


Summons and Complaint

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Series: Gag Order [2]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So what do you make, Mike?  What are they paying you there?”  He leaned forward, dark eyes intense.  “I bet you’re making bank.”</p><p>Mike gave Trevor what he imagined was a somewhat pinched smile in return.  “I do all right.  I’m paid plenty, and I like what I do.”  Usually.  Not so much lately.  His relationship with Harvey remained strained, to put it mildly.  Two months ago he’d asked Harvey to give him a month.  The month had come and gone and Harvey hadn’t made a move.  As far as Mike could tell, he didn’t have any intention of renewing their brief liaison.  Not that he blamed Harvey, really.  Most days he did his best not to dwell on that, and the work helped keep his mind off of things he’d rather not think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mike watched Trevor’s dark hair disappear and reappear as his friend wove through the packed bar on his quest for another round of drinks. Their third round, or was it their fourth? He rattled the ice in his glass, tipped it to trickle the last watery drops of bourbon down his throat.

And then it happened. All at once, the too close air in the room seemed to waver around him and he froze, heartbeat accelerating. A raspy voice laughed in his ear. His head whipped around -- no one was there -- and then he dropped his gaze to the glass in alarm.

_No no no,_ whispered a different, panicky voice in his head. He breathed deeply, remembering where he was and who he was with. Trevor. Trevor was his friend. He could trust Trevor.

By the time Trevor made it back to their table loaded with two drinks for each of them, Mike had calmed down. Of course the drinks were hitting him quickly. He’d barely eaten a thing all day, and the drinks at _Gable’s_ were strong as fuck.

Trevor dropped into the chair across from Mike and grinned at him. “I put them on your tab.”

Mike lifted his glass in a sarcastic toast and drank, trying not to gulp, not to appear too eager and needy. Not to make it too obvious how broken he felt.

Trevor laughed, that sharp cynical bark which used to send an anticipatory shiver down Mike’s spine, but which now only annoyed him. “You can afford it,” said Trevor, eying Mike up and down. He reached out to touch the lapel of Mike’s suit and flicked it with his finger. “I mean, look at you, Mikey. All spruced up in your fancy suit. Just like a grownup.” He laughed again and took a sip of his vodka tonic. “Come on. Fill me in. Tell me what kind of scam you’re running that has you looking like _The Man_.”

Mike tossed back the rest of his drink, feeling the burn all the way down his throat to his belly. He relaxed a little as the warmth spread through him. “It’s called a job, Trevor. I assume you’ve heard of those?” He pulled his second drink closer, running his finger around the rim, forcing himself to slow down, to wait.

Trevor grimaced and gave a snort of disgust, glancing around the bar as if looking for someone. “I never figured you’d turn into one of these…” With the hand that held his drink, he gestured at the crowd, seeming not to notice the liquid slopping over the side of the glass. “One of these worker bees. Mindless chumps who get up way too early, slave all day, drown their sorrows all night at a dive like this.”

“It’s not so bad. I have dental.”

“Really? Glad to hear it, I guess. So what do you make, Mike? What are they paying you there?” He leaned forward, dark eyes intense. “I bet you’re making bank.”

Mike gave Trevor what he imagined was a somewhat pinched smile in return. “I do all right. I’m paid plenty, and I like what I do.” _Usually_. Not so much lately. His relationship with Harvey remained strained, to put it mildly. Two months ago he’d asked Harvey to give him a month. The month had come and gone and Harvey hadn’t made a move. As far as Mike could tell, he didn’t have any intention of renewing their brief liaison. Not that he blamed Harvey, really. Most days he did his best not to dwell on that, and the work helped keep his mind off of things he’d rather not think about.

He permitted himself a sip of his drink, rolled his shoulders, trying to will his tense muscles to loosen. He idly considered the notion of picking up one of the guys here, taking them home and letting them pound into him until he felt lighter and could manage more than an hour or two of sleep. Most of them were probably straight, but one broad-shouldered man at the bar kept trying to catch his eye. He allowed himself to consider it for perhaps five seconds, to picture himself approaching the man and following him out, kneeling in front of him and….He shivered.

“Mike.” Trevor snapped his fingers inches from Mike’s face. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly and not very convincingly, judging by Trevor’s expression. He drank, smiled tightly, drank again and blinked, wondering where the rest of his drink had disappeared to, and then deciding it didn’t matter. The edges of the world had at last gone pleasingly fuzzy. He gave Trevor a more natural smile. “Anyway, you said you needed to talk to me. Can I assume it was about something more important than my wretched status as a wage slave?”

Trevor smirked at him. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Uh huh. And how are you planning to screw my life up this time?”

Trevor clutched his chest. “Ouch, Mike. Your skepticism wounds me deeply. You know I only want the best for you.”

“Gonna have to call bullshit on that.” Mike leaned forward and grabbed Trevor’s wrist, giving it a shake. “My mind holds so goddamn many memories. Like the time you got me kicked out of school for cheating. Or the time you decided you’d like to pimp me out for rent money. And more recently, how about that little incident where you nearly got me arrested for dealing pot?” He glanced down in surprise at the feel of Trevor’s warm hand covering his own. Looking up, he swallowed hard, arrested by the look in Trevor’s dark eyes. “What?”

“I won’t deny any of that happened. You do realize that you could have given me a simple ‘no thanks’ to any of those suggestions? But you didn’t. You always agreed.”

“Eventually,” Mike mumbled.

“Sure, but admit it: you did agree. You always said yes.”

Mike missed the next few things Trevor said, arrested by those words. _You did agree. You always said yes._ He did, didn’t he? He had. What did that mean? What did that say about him?

Trevor was still talking. “You want to know why I think that was?”

_Not really._ “I’m tired.”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Yeah, I suppose we were.”

“Were? Damn, Mike. You used to trust me. We were good together. What happened to us?”

Mike blinked. Suddenly, he didn’t want to argue with Trevor, didn’t want to ruin his pleasant buzz pointlessly rehashing past mistakes. He had a better idea. “Let’s go back to my place.”

Trevor freed his hand and sat back, staring. “I’m trying to talk to you. I’m trying to be serious here.”

Mike leaned forward. “We can be serious at my place. We can get seriously high.” _And maybe fuck around a little._ “It’s been a while.”

Trevor didn’t move, except for the half smile that quirked his lips. Finally, he let out his breath, nodding slowly. “It’s been a while for a lot of things.”

In spite of Trevor’s amused expression, Mike could hear the tension in his voice, which meant he was pissed off but trying to hide it. And suddenly Mike remembered the last time they’d had this discussion, and how it had ended. “You brought it on yourself.” He sounded harsh even to himself, so he smiled and added, “But you haven’t seen my new place yet. So let’s go get high and you can finish telling me whatever it is that’s on your mind.”

Trevor stared at him, that funny little smile still playing on his lips. He shrugged and signaled the waitress. “All right. Pay the lady and let’s get out of here.”

*****

“I thought you said that law firm was paying you a decent wage?” Trevor walked around Mike’s apartment, examining the scarred wood floors, ugly kitchen cabinets and claustrophobic view out the living room window of the building next door. “Wow. This place is worse than the last one. Tell me again why you moved?”

“This is closer to work.”

Trevor laughed. “By about a block and a half.”

Mike took off his jacket and threw it over the back of the sofa. “Try fourteen blocks closer.”

“Whatever. How long have you been here?”

“Couple of months.”

Trevor spun around to stare at him. “What? You haven’t even unpacked your boxes. There aren’t any pictures on the wall. Where’s that fucking cute little panda picture you used to have?”

“Okay, Martha Stewart. Settle your dick down already. I’ve been busy at work. I haven’t had time to beautify my surroundings.” He dropped onto the sofa, pried off his shoes and thunked his feet on top of one of the unpacked boxes Trevor had mentioned. “You wanted to talk? So sit down, light up and let’s chat.” Leaning his head against the back of the sofa, he closed his eyes. After a moment he heard Trevor move and then the sofa gave under the other man’s weight. The only other seat in the room was a recliner which currently held most of his library of books and a dead dieffenbachia plant.

Trevor sighed. “Fine. So where’s your stash?”

Mike cracked one eyelid open and regarded Trevor blearily. “I don’t smoke that shit anymore. I just figured you had some.”

Trevor shook his head sadly. “For a genius, you sure are a dumb shit sometimes. So how about some beer? You got any of that?”

“Help yourself.” While Trevor wound through a maze of boxes to the kitchen, Mike wrestled his tie off over his head and unbuttoned his shirt. The room wibbled and then wobbled. Feeling sleepy, he tipped over sideways to lie on the sofa, arms wrapped around his midsection. The next thing he knew, someone was kicking the sofa underneath his legs. He unstuck his eyes to find two Trevors looming over him.

“Jesus, Mikey. You can’t be this wasted. I had just as much to drink as you.”

“Were you up at the ass-crack of dawn to make it to work before your tyrant of a boss?” Which wasn’t really fair to Harvey. These days it seemed like he couldn’t really give a shit when Mike showed his face at Pearson Hardman.

“Move your fucking legs and let me sit.” After Mike had readjusted himself and they were sitting side by side Trevor said, “The truth is….” He stopped and seemed to steel himself, as if finding honesty painful. “I’ve gotten myself into some trouble.”

“Ah.”

Trevor glowered at him. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t fucking act like this is exactly what you expected from me. That it was only a matter of time until I fucked up again.”

Mike blinked a few times, trying to focus more clearly, to figure out why Trevor suddenly seemed to vibrate with rage. He placed a tentative hand on his friend’s knee and was shocked when Trevor smacked it away. “Ow,” he said feebly.

Trevor drew in a deep breath and held both hands away from himself. “Sorry. Sorry, Mike. I’m just on edge. These guys I’m involved with….Well, let’s just say they don’t mess around.”

“Involved with how?”

Trevor’s mouth twisted. “I owe them. A lot.”

“And?”

“And it’s time to pay up.”

Mike digested that. After a moment, he said, “You want money.”

Trevor turned toward him, scooted closer and grabbed Mike’s hands. “I’d pay you back Mike. Swear to God.”

He tried to pull away, but Trevor had him in a bruising grip. “Trev, it’s not like I have piles of cash just lying around. And don’t bother doing the sad puppy eyes at me. You look ridiculous.”

He tried once more to reclaim his hands, but Trevor leaned toward him, bearing down and pushing him onto his back against the arm of the sofa. “Remember how close we were once?” asked Trevor. “It was good, wasn’t it? You used to love it when I fucked you senseless, or shoved my dick down your throat and made you take it until you came, choking and crying.” He tried to kiss Mike, who turned his face to the side. Trevor laughed breathlessly, trying to capture Mike’s mouth. “Oh, come on. You loved it. You know you wanted it.”

“Is that how you remember it? I remember you were a selfish bastard who never gave a shit what I wanted.”

Trevor’s expression rearranged itself into the devilish look that Mike used to find so sexy. “Nah, Mikey. I knew what you wanted then, and I know what you want now.” His dark head moved lower so he could nip at Mike’s neck.

And just like that, Mike was mad. Fucking furious. “Get off of me, Trevor. I mean it.” He wriggled, trying unsuccessfully to free himself. This was wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. Panic filled him. He yanked hard on Trevor’s hair and got only muffled laughter in return, so he drew his legs up, planted his feet on Trevor’s midsection and pushed. Trevor grunted in pain and surprise before slipping off the sofa to the floor.

Mike shot to his feet. A blood red, bourbon-scented haze filled his senses. He had a vague impression of someone yelling and cursing and dull jabs of pain in his foot. A charging weight slammed into his thighs and he was down, on his back on the floor, Trevor’s arms wrapped like a hungry boa constrictor around his upper legs. Mike jabbed on elbow downward into Trevor’s spine, once, and again, all the while squirming, furious and desperate to free himself.

“Get. Off,” he ground out, and gave Trevor another vicious elbow jab while trying vainly to back away, to get away, to make it stop. He grabbed Trevor’s pinkie finger and twisted. When his grip on Mike loosened, he yanked harder, ignoring Trevor’s howl of pain. Dragging one leg up so that his foot pressed against Trevor’s shoulder, he shoved hard and jerked to his feet, off balance and backing up.

Trevor moved more quickly than he expected, and when Mike’s back hit the wall, Trevor was already there, screaming in his face, forearm pressed against Mike’s throat. “What the hell, Mike!”

Mike clawed at the arm restricting his air, stomped down on Trevor’s instep, and had a split-second sense of victory as he dragged in a breath before pain exploded in his cheek and the back of his head. He got one arm up to deflect any further blows, but instead of another meaty-fisted punch, Trevor shoved him hard and sent him stumbling back through stacked boxes and down to the ground. When the stars began to clear from his vision, he found Trevor standing over him, looking as angry as Mike had ever seen him.

“You little shit,” Trevor gasped. For a moment, Mike was sure he was going to draw back his foot and kick him in the kidneys. But he didn’t. He just stood there glaring down at him, angry and...something else. “You are seriously fucked in the head.” He turned away, rubbing his side and scanning the apartment.

Mike pulled himself to a sitting position, shaking and trying to catch his breath. _What just happened?_ He watched Trevor go through the pockets of his suit coat until he found Mike’s wallet, felt as if he should say something, object, laugh off his actions. But he just watched while Trevor pulled all the money from his wallet and then walked back over to squat next to Mike.

Trevor had calmed down some -- they both had -- and now looked more grieved than angry. “Buddy,” he said, counting the bills and folding them in half, “I’m not even going to ask what’s going on with you. Get laid maybe. Or get help. Just don’t you ever pull that shit on me again. You’ve never won a fight with me yet and I won’t hold back next time.” He stood up and moved to the door. “You know, you just made this easier. See, I know you’ve got money coming in.” He waved the wad of bills in Mike’s direction before stuffing them in his front pocket. “I am fucking desperate, and there’s no one else to hit up. Just you buddy. This here, tonight?” He waved a hand as if to indicate the scene which had just taken place. “That was me playing nice. Next time, it will be me playing very, very rough. Or...” He seemed to be considering... “Or maybe we can just cut out the middle man. That’s me, in case you weren’t sure. Maybe I’ll just have a talk with the guys who are squeezing me, and let them know that you are the guy with the cash.”

Mike grunted. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Trevor made an abrupt move toward Mike, and Mike hated how he found himself cringing back against the wall, especially since Trevor’s move was only a fake meant to cause just that reaction. Trevor gave a cynical sounding laugh. “It works however I way it works, buddy. You and I both know you can get me what I need without breaking a sweat. So just do it, all right? Play ball or some very ugly folks will turn their attention from me to you. I’ll call you, and when I do, I’d take that call if I were you.” He gave Mike one more appraising look and then left without another word.

Mike struggled to get up, knocking over another box before he managed to gain his feet. “Shit,” he muttered as he stumbled back to the sofa and sat down hard. He propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his face into his hands, ignoring the stab of pain in his cheek. He wasn’t sure what bothered him the most -- Trevor’s threats or his own freak-out. He’d been trying so hard for the last two months to feel normal again after the whole episode with St. John. Who knew a simple -- and pretty typical, for them -- encounter with Trevor could trigger such sudden, blinding rage.

Lifting his head, he stared at his hands. They shook with reaction. He realized he wanted a drink. No, he _needed_ a drink, and maybe a handful of opiates. Pot would be good. All he had was beer, though, and he wasn’t sure his stomach could handle even that right now. A glance at his watch showed him it was after midnight. He thought of how it would feel to drag himself out of bed in a few hours to face Harvey’s carefully impersonal attitude. Another fight with Trevor sounded almost preferable to that.

“You are seriously fucked up,” he muttered. Trevor, that asshole, was right about that. He took a deep, steadying breath, let it out, took another. And that seemed like an answer, at least for now. Just keep going, keep breathing in and out and wait until the past had receded far enough that he no longer heard St. John’s voice whispering in his ear, telling him he was his good, beautiful boy, instructing him with equal parts patience and cruelty, dismantling him piece by piece by piece.

St. John might be gone, might be irrefutably, undeniably dead, but part of him lived on inside Mike’s brain, and would forever, never to be forgotten.

The scuffle with Trevor had sobered him up. Now, the night stretched before him, and there was no one to tell him no, so he stripped off the rest of his work clothes, dressed in jeans and a snug t-shirt and headed out again, this time to the bar halfway down the block, where he knew he could find someone with little difficulty to give him exactly what he needed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Music played softly in Harvey’s office, some rare Otis Rush live performance that Ray had dug up for him last week. The smoky, dirty guitar riffs skittered and danced along his nerve endings, and his closed pen stuttered across one of the legal briefs spread in front of him. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.

Half an hour earlier, he’d found the lynch pin that would tip the case in his client’s favor. As always, it felt like finding the key puzzle piece. Once that piece was inserted, everything else fell into place smooth as you please.

If only he could find the right piece where his problems with Mike were concerned. Trouble was, he might have already waited too long. Mike had asked for some time, but Harvey had let the set deadline pass and slip further and further behind them. Neither had mentioned it.

The music continued at the same subdued level, but something in the atmosphere of the office changed, some quality of silence and expectation. “What is it Donna?” he asked, before glancing up to find her, as he’d known she would be, leaning in the open doorway.

“Jessica called again.”

“Shocking.”

“Third time, Harvey. Do you really want to wait until she comes down here in person to find out why she doesn’t have the revised articles of incorporation for her ten o’clock meeting with Grayson?”

He sighed and pushed back a little from his desk. “Has -- ”

“Ten minutes ago.”

They stared at one another until he grunted and stood up. “Goddamn that kid,” he muttered, slid on his suit jacket and headed to the bullpen.

 

*****

 

Riding his bike to work had been a mistake. Mike had thought the ride would clear his head and perhaps work out some of the aches that seemed to reside in every molecule of his body. In addition to the bruises bestowed upon him by Trevor, he had an entire second set with which First Names Only Paul had obligingly gifted him. Luckily, his clothes covered the worst of the damage. There wasn’t much he could do to disguise the darkening bruise that Trevor had left on his face. And he doubted that any amount of stoicism he mustered would hide the fact that he was suffering from a hangover of biblical proportions.

He paused in the act of securing his bike lock. _Biblical hangovers? Was that even a thing?_

That thought ping-ponged painfully in his brain on the elevator ride up to Pearson Hardman. By the time he arrived at his desk, he neither cared about the answer, nor recalled where the notion had come from. When his computer was up and running, he blinked in surprise to see that it was already after nine o’clock. The Grayson documents Harvey had tossed on his desk the previous afternoon (late afternoon, Mike reminded himself, as if already preparing a defense) still sat untouched and unproofed.

A small, spiteful corner of Mike’s throbbing brain thought, _He can’t ignore this. This won’t go unnoticed._ _Or unpunished._ He saw movement in his peripheral vision, breathed deeply to push past all of the pain, and turned to meet the glowering gaze of --

_Louis_.

Mike couldn’t hold back his low groan. This was the last thing he needed today.

_Someone just kill me now_.

He grabbed the Grayson incorporation documents, uncapped a highlighter, and began flipping through the pages, barely seeing the words before him. “ _What_?” he practically snarled at Louis, suddenly itching for another fight. “Whatever it is, I don’t have time for it.”

He heard a sigh, but refused to look at Louis, even when he moved in front of him.

“Mike. _Mike_. You aren’t allowed to ignore me. Come on. We need to -- .”

The sudden hiss of Louis’s inward breath should have given Mike some warning, but the hand that came at his face had him jerking away so forcefully that his wheeled chair flew backwards and smacked into the wall of his cubicle. The pain of impact rendered him momentarily speechless, but when Louis came around the side wall into his cubicle, he managed to squeeze out a few wheezing obscenities.

“What the hell happened, Mike?” asked Louis, leaning over Mike, too close, hemming him in.

“You startled me, that’s what happened,” he gritted out. He held out one hand. “Back up a little, for Christ’s sake.”

“Your face,” said Louis. “What the hell happened to your face?” He sounded impatient, pissed off, and...concerned?

Mike’s hand jerked convulsively up to touch his face, and he winced. “Oh. Shit. I forgot about that,” he lied. “It looks bad, huh?”

“Who did that to you?” Louis sounded even angrier, and it took Mike a couple of seconds to realize that he wasn’t angry at Mike.

“Who? What? No. Nobody did anything to me, Louis. I took a tumble on my bike. It’s no big deal.”

“A tumble. On your bike.” Louis eyed him shrewdly. “You didn’t fall down the stairs? Or walk into a door.”

“Oh my god,” Mike groaned. “No. I swear. Some idiot cab driver cut me off and I braked too hard and took a spill. Don’t turn this into some stupid Lifetime movie drama.”

“I wasn’t -- ” Louis seemed to think better of whatever he had intended to say. He took a couple of backward steps until he stood outside of Mike’s cubicle once more. His gaze slid past Mike to the wall behind him. “Whatever. Excuse me for giving a shit. I happen to be sensitive to the signs of -- no, never mind. Whatever.”

Mike crossed his arms over his chest. Anger surged through him as he remembered Louis’s part in his recent troubles. “What did you want, Louis?”

“If you must know, I came down here to try and clear the air with you. Since I seem to have caught you at a bad time, I’ll just leave you to your work.” His chin lifted fractionally. “My door is always open, Mike, and because of recent...events...I feel as if I owe you something.”

“Louis....”

“No, let me get this out. I owe you, but that isn’t an open-ended invitation for you to slack off, or use the debt to your advantage. I’m giving you -- ” and here, he mimed the acting of handing Mike a piece of paper. “I’m giving you one favor, to be used when needed. This is a one time only offer, so I suggest you use it wisely.”

Mike reached up, took the imaginary piece of paper, and mimed crumpling it up and tossing it into the wastebasket.

“Well,” said Louis. “Regardless. The offer stands. I don’t take my debts lightly. Keep that in mind when you get in too deep with...whoever.”

Louis was gone before Mike had the opportunity to respond. “Coffee,” he muttered. “I need coffee.”

“What you need,” said an icy voice behind him, “is a goddamn sense of responsibility.”

_Harvey_.

Mike swiveled slowly, until he faced his stony-visaged boss. “Good morning to you too,” he said.

“Oh? Is it still morning? I guess I should thank you then, for gracing us with your presence.”

“Harvey....” Mike trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say. _I’m tired? I hurt? I think I might be losing my mind? I’m sorry and I miss you?_ He shoved all that back down and just gestured weakly at the documents on his desk with the highlighter, which he still clutched in one hand.

“Am I to take that to mean you’re finished proofing?”

“I will be. Soon.”

“Soon. I see. Did you not understand me yesterday when I said I needed these first thing this morning? That Jessica needed them for a meeting?”

“I had an appointment I couldn’t avoid. It won’t happen again. I’ll get these done right away. Half an hour tops.”

He stared at the printed page in front of him, too focused on Harvey’s looming presence to understand a single word he was reading. He expected Harvey to either leave or make another scathing remark. The silence and stillness unnerved him until he couldn’t stop himself from looking up at Harvey. The dark eyes that met his weren’t nearly as cold as they’d been a minute ago.

“What happened to your face?” Harvey asked.

“Nothing,” said Mike, not wanting a repeat of his conversation with Louis. “Was there anything else?”

Harvey exhaled angrily. “Next time, try a little concealer. Walking around with a shiner like that doesn’t project a very professional attitude. And if you don’t have those documents proofed, corrected, and on my desk in twenty minutes, you’re fired.”

Mike bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from telling Harvey to go fuck himself. They glared at one another for perhaps half a minute until Harvey finally spun on his heel and stalked away.

Released from Harvey’s gaze, Mike felt as if half the air had left his body. He sagged in his chair and tried to get his heart rate back to somewhere approaching normal. Anger still suffused him, but at the same time he was picturing -- no, remembering -- Harvey naked and in bed with him, the intensity of his gaze fueled by lust instead of anger.

He allowed his mind to follow that train of thought a little too far and then shook himself, trying to focus on the work he needed to get done. Would Harvey really fire him? Was he that angry at him? It hardly seemed fair, but perhaps he had finally pushed Harvey too far. He imagined himself going to Harvey and pleading to have his job back, leading inevitably to angry sex, with him shoved across Harvey’s desk and....

He took a deep, shaky breath and pushed the image firmly away. A glance at the clock on his computer showed he now had fifteen minutes to proof the documents, so he forcibly blocked out everything except the words in front of him, and prepared to set a new speed record with his highlighter.

 

*****

 

“Well, that went well,” Harvey groused to Donna as he reached his office.

“Did he have the revised articles ready?”

“Nope.”

“Then he deserved whatever you said to him.”

Harvey leaned against the front of her desk, frowning. “He looks like hell. I think he’s been in a fight. He’s got a nasty shiner.”

Donna finally looked up from her computer screen. “And you offered him sympathy and advice?”

“Not exactly. Advice, yes. Then I threatened to fire him”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean? ‘Ah.’ What is that?”

“Harvey, you don’t need me to tell you what to do. You’ve been driving yourself nuts for the past two months, not to mention driving _me_ nuts, and anyone else unlucky enough to wander into your orbit. You’re pining -- “

“I do not pine.”

“You’re _pining_ after Mike. You couldn’t possibly be any more obvious about it.”

Harvey gave an annoyed huff. “Only to you.”

“True. But my point is, talk to the boy. My god, Harvey, when have _you_ ever been afraid --”

“I am not afraid.”

“Damn it, Harvey. Stop interrupting. When have you ever been afraid to confront a problem head on? Take the kid to dinner. Talk to him. More importantly _Listen_ to him. _Figure this out_.”

His mouth twisted, not sure if it wanted to smile or frown more deeply. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Hm. I wouldn’t wait too long. Or you could end up not getting what you know you want.”

A few cutting responses flitted through his mind, but he knew she was right. He could have told her that he hated it when she was right, but they would both know he was lying. So he sat at his desk, listening to Otis Rush do his best to try and break his heart in two, watching the minutes tick down on Mike’s deadline, and planning his strategy to get Mike back into his bed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Mike glanced down at the corner of his computer screen and grimaced. Three minutes after five. How was the afternoon moving so slowly?

No new work had landed on his desk after he had finished revising and correcting the Grayson documents. He’d missed Harvey’s deadline by two minutes, and had gone into his office expecting another icy blast of arctic air. He’d been surprised when Harvey only grunted and accepted the new articles of incorporation. He barely glanced at Mike, and didn’t speak, even to bring up his earlier threat.

And what was Mike supposed to make of that?

He spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon in the library helping Harold research case law pertinent to a class action suit that Louis was considering. It was dull work, but he found Harold easy to be around, cheerful, undemanding, just bizarre enough to be amusing -- usually. When they’d finished up, with Harold falling all over himself in gratitude, Mike declined his offer of pizza and a beer, and returned to his desk to organize his pens and sort his paper clips by color and size.

When the clock reached five-twenty, he decided he would wait ten more minutes and then take off. He needed to do some maintenance work on his bike. The rear dérailleur had been a little wonky lately, and he knew a guy in Brooklyn with a shop who let him borrow his tools if he showed up before they closed at six.

Fifteen minutes later, he was downstairs outside the building, squatting beside his bike to work the combination lock, feeling all of the aches and pains which served to remind him of the night before, and wondering if he should just leave the damn bike overnight and take a cab home. He thought he heard someone call his name, and he straightened up, groaning. Throngs of office workers spilled past him, heading home or perhaps to grab a quick bite before putting in a few more hours. He scanned the crowd, but didn’t spot anyone he knew, so he turned in a slow circle.

A ripple of movement caught his eye near the sidewalk. He zeroed in on two men who didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the crowd. The first was average in every way except for the size of the gun under his arm which appeared briefly as his black leather jacket flapped open. Mike froze, as if that would make him invisible. His gaze flicked to the second man. He recognized the broad shoulders and attractive features from the bar last night. It was the man he thought had been checking him out during his meeting with Trevor. He saw Mike see him, and broke into a wolfish grin, nudging the smaller man, who eased his gun from its holster, still holding it under his jacket. Both men picked up their pace, coming straight for Mike.

He gave a quick, panicked look around for escape routes, checked that the strap of his messenger back was securely around his chest, shifted the bag to the back, mounted his bike and pushed off, angling on a path that would take him several yards from the two men. The crowd, used to the ever present bike messengers and their disregard for politeness and the rules of right of way, melted out of his way with little fuss. The two charging men were a different story. No one stepped aside to let them pass, and so they had to resort to threats and elbows and rough shoves to clear a path towards Mike.

He made it to the street, shifted to a medium gear, and felt himself gain traction as he slid into the channel between two cabs. The light at the intersection turned yellow and he shifted higher and began to pedal faster. He wanted to scream in frustration when he felt the pedals suddenly circle freely, with no resistance, and then came the unmistakable sensation of the rear dérailleur seizing up entirely. He braked hard, felt the rear tire start to slide out from under him, managed to get his weight onto one leg, and went down in a graceless topple which sent the bike skidding underneath the squealing tires of the cab on his left, and himself slamming shoulder first into the one on his right.

He lay face up in the street, stunned, horns blaring all around him, wondering dazedly how many bones he had broken, and what the odds were that he would be run over. He heard shouts, car doors opening and slamming shut, curses directed at him. An ungentle hand touched his shoulder, shaking him, and a face loomed over him. Not a good face, he realized. A black leather jacket fell open, the hem brushing his arm, and the barrel of a large handgun pressed into his ribs. He gasped and winced. Booted feet bracketed his head, and it took him a moment to realize that his second pursuer stood over him, directing traffic away, and allowing his companion some quality alone time with Mike.

The gun poked his ribcage hard. “Pay attention,” hissed the man. He had muddy hazel eyes, close cropped hair that could have been dark blonde or light brunette, even features that might have been pretty except for the acne scars and eyes set too close together. “Next time you see us, lawyer-boy, you do not run. We need to make arrangements. Your buddy Trevor is depending on you.”

“Come on, Jake,” growled the other man. “We gotta get out of here.”

Jake jabbed the gun at Mike again. “Don’t move.” He ran his hands over Mike’s body, into his pockets, pulling out his wallet, which he rifled through with practiced ease. He _tsked_ at the five dollars Mike had in there, retrieved one of the business cards Mike carried, and tossed the wallet on his chest. He holstered his gun, and before he stood up, he patted Mike’s face and smiled down at him. “We’ll be in touch Mikey. Stay safe.”

And then they were gone, disappearing into the crowd. Mike closed his eyes, thinking maybe he could just lie there for a little while longer. A foot nudged him and he opened his eyes. One of the cab drivers stared down at him, frowning.

“Hey. You. You alive down there?”

Mike blinked. “More or less.”

“Glad to hear it. So why don’t you get your lazy ass the fuck outta the road?”

“Sure. Right. My bad.” Mike sat up slowly, groaning. His shoulder and leg hurt like hell, but nothing seemed to be broken. His bike hadn’t fared so well. A couple of drivers and one older man that Mike recognized as the owner of the deli on the corner, were yanking the bike free from underneath the cab as Mike staggered to his feet. The frame was bent at almost a ninety degree angle. The cab appeared to be fine.

“I think your bike’s a goner,” said the first cab driver, who turned out to be a decent guy. He held a hand under Mike’s elbow and helped him limp back to the sidewalk, where they both watched the mangled bike land next to Mike. “Hey, that’s tough luck kid. But I gotta get going. You should get yourself checked out.”

And then he was gone, and traffic was moving fitfully forward again. Mike knelt gingerly, touched the crumpled aluminum and shivered, wondering how he was still in one piece. He debated whether it would be worth it to salvage the bike for parts, then decided he would rather find the nearest dumpster and chuck it in.

_Maybe someone should salvage me for parts._ He gave a disgusted snort and stood up, staring down at the bike and shaking his head sadly. Finally, he hefted it off the ground and headed for the alley. “Time for you to go towards the light,” he muttered.

 

******

 

“You see him?” Harvey asked Ray.

“Yep. Guess he decided not to ride the bike home.”

Harvey waited until the town car stopped at the light before he slid the window down. Mike stood perhaps five feet away, trying to hail a cab. “Mike,” he called. Mike turned, looking weirdly on the edge of panic. “Get in. We need to talk.”

Mike hesitated just long enough that Harvey thought he might refuse, but then his shoulders slumped and he began limping toward the car, remembering himself enough to walk around the front to get in on the left side.

_Limping?_

As Mike climbed in, Harvey appraised his appearance. Mike’s bruised face from that morning had acquired a scrape on the right temple, his suit coat was torn at the shoulder, and as he dropped into the seat, he gave a groan that sounded more like a whimper, because he had his lips pressed together.

“Well, you like like hell,” Harvey observed. “The first rule of Fight Club, et cetera, et cetera?”

Mike growled. _Growled_. “More like the first rule of fuck off is Fuck. The. Fuck. Off.”

Harvey removed his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket. “Penalty for overuse of an obscenity.”

“Ha fucking ha.”

Harvey grew serious, studying the boy more carefully. He really did look like shit. And he was being too secretive. Harvey didn’t like that. Still, their recent distance made it difficult to broach other than the most superficial of subjects in a way that didn’t come off as accusatory or critical. So he lectured himself briefly, _just remember you lo -- like the kid. Time for a little Wooing 101._

He gentled his tone. “Those Grayson docs looked good. Flawless, in fact. Jessica commented on it.”

Mike eyed him sideways, overtly suspicious. “Uh. Thanks?” The city inched by outside the car windows. “And?” Mike asked, a little pointedly.

“And I thought maybe we could...celebrate.”

“Celebrate.” Mike seemed to consider it, and then shook himself a little and frowned. “Jesus Harvey, they were just articles of incorporation.”

“You found several mistakes that could have cost the client big time down the road, and you fixed them. Don’t underrate your contributions.” He winced a little inside. As wooing went, he was sucking right now. He sighed and decided it was time to access his heart...or at least his aortal and ventricular regions. “We’ve....I’ve....You’ve been working hard lately, putting in a lot of hours. I know I can be difficult to work for, so from time to time I like to show my appreciation.”

Mike had turned his head and was staring at Harvey, blue eyes huge. The city lights played over his face as the car moved, seeming to accentuate the hard lines of worry and stress which Harvey hadn’t noticed before...not that he’d been looking. “What’s going on, Harvey?” Mike asked.

“I just told you.”

Mike looked away, muttered, “You sound like Louis, and it’s freaking me out.”

That stung, but Harvey chose to let it pass. “I have reservations at _Panda Rouge_ in -- ” he glanced at his watch. ” -- in ten minutes.”

“Tonight? Wait. There’s actually a restaurant named _Panda Rouge_? Never mind. I don’t care. No, Harvey. I can’t have dinner with you right now.” Mike’s mouth was set in a mulish line.

“I don’t recall phrasing it in the form of a question. We have reservations, and we need to talk.” He wished he could take that back almost as soon as the words left his mouth. They _did_ need to talk, but he’d intended a more subtle approach.

“I can’t. I have....” Mike waved a hand around, seeming at a loss for words.

“You have a boss who’s just invited you to dinner.” Too harsh, Harvey realized, and tried again. “I’m serious, Mike. I need to talk to you. Certain...things need to be said.”

But Mike was shaking his head, adamant in his refusal. “I have plans tonight. Fairly urgent plans, as it happens. So, no, Harvey, and playing the boss card won’t work. This can’t wait.”

“Dammit, Mike.”

Mike seemed not to have heard him. His head swiveled one way and then the other, and Harvey realized he was trying to see out the windows. “Look, Harvey, we can reschedule, all right? Right now, I need to get home. Do you think you could make a little detour to my place? Hey, Ray, if you turn right here, it’s only fifteen minutes away.”

Harvey’s aortal and ventricular regions sank, but he judged people for a living, and right now he judged that he had little to gain by pushing Mike. He could wait another twenty-four hours -- couldn’t he? He met Ray’s questioning gaze in the rear view mirror, and nodded. “Okay, Mike. I’ll humor you. I’ll change the reservation. But we will have that talk. Tomorrow night. No excuses.” When Mike remained silent, he began to grow irritated, and grabbed the kid’s shoulder, intending to shake it for emphasis.

Mike yelped and pulled away, rubbing his shoulder. “The fuck Harvey,” he gasped.

Harvey’s microsecond of guilt was replaced by anger. “Take off your jacket,” he ordered.

Mike froze, giving him an incredulous look. “What? No.”

“Now, Mike.”

A brief, fraught silence. Then, “Why?” asked Mike quietly.

“Because, when I ask you how bad it is, you’re going to lie to my face and tell me it’s fine. I don’t believe it is fine, and I would like to see for myself. So take off your jacket. Now, Mike. Do it!”

It seemed about fifty-fifty, whether or not Mike would obey, and Harvey rapidly debated the pros and cons of physical force. That proved unnecessary when Mike moved jerkily to pull off the jacket, his face tightening in obvious pain.

“Now the tie and shirt.”

Mike’s mouth twisted bitterly even as his fingers began fumbling with his tie. “You realize how this could be construed, right?” Shaking fingers slipped the buttons from their holes.

“I don’t give a shit about that. Here. Stop. Let me do it.” Not meeting Mike’s eyes, he brushed his hands away and continued working the buttons open, carefully pulled the tails of the shirt from Mike’s trousers, and finished the job. Taking care not to jar Mike’s shoulder, he eased the shirt down and all the way off, except for the cuffs, which he left on Mike’s wrists. Mike was wearing a white t-shirt underneath. Ignoring both his own quickly beating heart and Mike’s worrisome stillness, he pulled up the front of the t-shirt and bit back hard on his gasp of shock.

Mike’s torso was a mottled map of bruises, some old, some recent, and some so new they were still red where sharp impact with something -- someone? -- had sent the blood to the surface of his skin. Harvey’s hand hovered over them, fingers not quite touching. Clamping down viciously on his emotions, he kept his voice soft. “Turn towards the door.” Mike complied, twisting away from him, and Harvey was treated to a view of Mike’s equally colorful back. The bruises disappeared underneath Mike’s waistband, and that was something Harvey didn’t want to think about.

He took several deep breaths. “All right,” he said, and pulled Mike’s shirt back up over his shoulders. “Get dressed.”

He kept his gaze averted, not wanting to watch Mike’s awkward movements, or his carefully blank expression. Instead, he watched the city glide past, watched the neighborhoods grew progressively seedier, felt an unwanted protectiveness grow inside of him. Lov -- _caring_ about other people was a messy and decidedly uncomfortable business.

While Mike buttoned up his shirt and tucked it back in, Harvey struggled to likewise button up his emotions. “Should I ask Ray to detour to the nearest hospital?” he finally asked.

Mike sighed, a thin hiss of sound that ended in a dry laugh. “You’ve already made it clear that you won’t believe me, but really, I’m fine.”

“Who did it?”

Mike’s hands tightened into fists on his thighs. “I’d have to write you a list. Would you like it alphabetically, chronologically, or in order of sexual prowess?”

“Huh,” Harvey said, feeling as if he’d been gut-punched. He let Mike’s words sink in, studying Mike’s averted face, and his long fingers tapping an agitated beat on his leg.

Mike turned to Harvey and laughed again, ugly and harsh. “Not what you expected to hear? Or maybe it’s exactly what you wanted to hear, so you can wash your hands of me, forget that embarrassing little episode of giving a shit about someone so obviously flawed. Well don’t worry, Harvey, I absolve you of...of anything and everything. I may be fucked up, but that’s my problem, not yours. I’m -- ” His voice cracked and he paused, gave his his head a small shake, and Harvey could hear his teeth click together as he tightened his jaw to keep his emotions under control. He continued, voice softer, “I’m...not good, okay? What St. -- what _he --_ did...I don’t know. When he died, I thought I’d be okay, but it’s not getting better. I understand why you’ve kept your distance. I really do. And I don’t blame you. No need for dinners or explanations or....” He gestured vaguely around himself.

“Nevertheless,” said Harvey, enunciating each syllable carefully. “Dinner tomorrow is non-negotiable.” He let the silence stretch, acutely aware all of a sudden of Ray in the front seat, hearing everything. Mike may have had similar thoughts, because he glanced at Ray and then exhaled shakily.

“You can let me out here,” Mike said. “I’ll walk the rest of the way. I could use some air.”

Harvey wanted to tell him no, that he wasn’t safe out there on his own. All those bruises... _Jesus_. “I’ll let you out here on two conditions. First, you agree to dinner, no excuses, no complaints. And second, promise me right now that your plans tonight don’t include any more....” he paused, searching for a way to say it, and finally settled on, “any more risky behavior.”

Mike pursed his lips. “Yes to the first. And I’ll do my best on the second. But, hey, shit happens.”

“Mike....”

“And I have one condition of my own.”

Harvey held out his hands, waiting.

“I don’t want to have dinner at _Panda Rouge_.”

Harvey shrugged. “Name a place, then.”

“Your place.”

That surprised Harvey, but he immediately warmed to the idea. “Done. seven o’clock sharp.”

“I’ll be there,” said Mike.

Without being asked, Ray pulled over to the curb and without another word, Mike got out and walked away into the night.

“Wait a few seconds and then follow him,” Harvey told Ray. “From a good distance.”

Ray shifted around in his seat and looked at Harvey. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”

An hour ago, Harvey would have answered confidently in the affirmative. Now he nodded a little too emphatically, and said, “Yeah. Sure. He’ll be fine.” But a huge, painful lump of uncertainly had lodged in his gut and he already regretted letting Mike out of the car and into the world on his own.

Why hadn’t he seen it? Why couldn’t he have opened his goddamn eyes long enough to notice that Mike was suffering, and that he was...stuck, or whatever it was?

_Shit. And there I was earlier today, planning to seduce him. Classy, Specter. Very classy._


	4. Chapter 4

Mike punched the buzzer to Trevor’s apartment again, waited, and stabbed at it repeatedly. Light shone in Trevor’s third floor living room window. “I know you’re in there,” he muttered. He considered pushing all the buzzers in the building, or waiting for someone to enter the building and follow them in. He didn’t know who might be up there with Trevor, though, so he pulled out his phone and dialed Trevor’s number again. It went straight to voice mail.

“Trevor. I have to see you, talk to you. Your _friends_ came to see me tonight. One of them held a gun on me, for fuck’s sake. Last night you said you’d call me first, before anything happened. What is this? What did you promise them? You had no right. I never agreed to anything. I told you -- ” Hearing the rising hysteria in his voice, he forced himself to stop and breathe in and out several times before continuing. “I cannot deal with this shit right now. These guys -- they’re your problem, not mine. You’ve got to call them off. Look, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to go off on you like that. Just tell me how to make it up to you. Tell me what I need to do.” He hung up, a little sickened by the sound of himself pleading so pathetically.

Seconds later, he dialed one more time. “Hey, I’m outside your place right now. And I know you can hear your buzzer just fine. I’m going to head over to that bar next to the Bhutanese dry cleaners, _Jimmy’s_ or _Jamie’s_ or whatever it’s called. I’ll be there until eight. We can talk. But let’s be clear: I can’t give you any money. I need it for Grammy. I’ll help you figure this out, though. Our two devious minds together? We can solve anything, right?” He started down the steps, rubbing his eye with one finger, carefully avoiding his bruised cheek. A couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk gave him a suspicious glare as they passed, reminding him of his disheveled and disreputable appearance. “Please,” he whispered, into the phone, “give me a chance to help you fix this.”

He hung up the phone and headed to the bar.

 

By seven fifty-five, Mike had drunk three beers and was nursing his fourth. Although he had no appetite, he’d ordered a basket of fries and every so often popped one into his mouth, chewing and swallowing without tasting. He sat alone at the small side of the “L” made by the worn wooden bar, with his torn suit jacket draped over the surface next to his fries, discouraging companionship. His messenger bag sat at his feet, his phone lay next to the jacket, and his nervously tapping fingers migrated to the phone every five minutes or so to check the time.

The bartender, a forty-something woman with a trim dancer’s body, wearing a tight t-shirt and a dark auburn pixie cut, strolled his way and gave his nearly empty bottle a questioning look.

He shook his head. “No thanks. Better just cash me out.” He fished his wallet out of the jacket’s pocket and grabbed a credit card. As he handed it to the bartender, his phone suddenly rang and the card slipped out of his hand. The phone’s display showed that the caller was Trevor. “Sorry,” he said, retrieving the card with one hand and answering the phone with the other. He shoved the card into the woman’s waiting hand and turned halfway around.

“God damn it, Trevor,” he hissed, “where the hell are you?”

A brief silence, and then Trevor spoke. “I’m busy, Mike. What do you want?’

“What do I want? Are you kidding me? I left you, like, four messages.”

Trevor gave an ugly laugh. “Yeah, I listened to them, and I’ve gotta say you sounded exactly like a hysterical little bitch.”

Mike took the phone away from his ear, holding it against his thigh while he wrestled with his spiking temper. Finally he raised it again and said, “Your two friends nearly got me killed tonight.”

“They said they only wanted to talk to you. That you freaked out.”

“What? You’ve talked to them? Who are these guys? Of course I freaked out. You did hear the part about the gun, right?”

Trevor laughed again. “They were never going to shoot you. Guns are just one of their tools. Pretty effective ones, too. I mean, when you’ve got a gun pointed at you, you tend to pay attention, right?”

He was still talking, but Mike had stopped listening. He was remembering a different conversation.

 _“What are your choices when someone puts a gun to your head?_ ”

Harvey had asked him that question, more than once, and Mike still hadn’t learned the lesson. He grew a little calmer just remembering Harvey’s words: _“You take the gun, or you pull out a bigger one. Or, you call their bluff. Or, you do any one of a hundred and forty six other things.”_

He tuned back into Trevor, heard him say, “I’m into them for close to a hundred thousand. I’ve got a big buy lined up that’ll put me in the clear, but not soon enough. They need twenty now, for good faith.”

“And what does any of that have to do with me?”

“I...may have let them believe you owed me for your Harvard tuition.”

“For my -- ” The absurdity of it was so perfect that Mike was rendered momentarily speechless. A fake debt for a fake degree. “Still, you can’t just -- ”

“Sure I can. I dummied up a promissory note. I’ve been forging your signature since we were fifteen, by the way. And I gave the note to them. I wasn’t really sure how much a Harvard education costs, so I just rounded up to one fifty.”

Mike’s mouth worked, but no words came out. Now he knew why Trevor hadn’t come down in person to give him the news. He probably would have stabbed him in the face. He wished he’d gotten another beer, or perhaps something stronger, something to douse the white hot anger that surged through him, flooding his veins, searing his lungs, and blinding him for several seconds. “You. Utter. Fuck.” The words sounded strangled to his own ears. He held the phone away from himself and glared at it. His hand shook -- his entire body seemed to tremble -- and he clenched the phone hard to keep himself from flinging it across the room.

And then the fire of anger seemed to burn itself out, leaving him calm and clear-headed for the first time in months. He pressed the phone back to his ear. Trevor was still speaking, ranting away about loyalty, and how Mike owed him, and how he wanted to teach him a lesson. His voice slurred every so often and Mike realized that he was extremely drunk.

“Trevor,” he said. And then louder, “Trevor. Trevor! Shut up a second. I said shut the fuck up!” He heard the staccato click of plastic behind him and swiveled back to the bar to find the bartender standing with her arms crossed, and his credit card and receipt on the bar, awaiting his signature.

“You need to keep your voice down,” she said, expression unfriendly.

Mike held out a hand placatingly. _Sorry,_ he mouthed at her. He signed the receipt, adding a generous tip, and then grabbed up his things and headed for the door, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.

Outside, he walked halfway down the block, searching again for that calm he had just touched, if ever so briefly. The cool air felt good against his heated face. He turned and paced back the other way, started to feel the cold too sharply, working it’s way into him and finding all of his aches and pains. He shrugged into his jacket and then let his messenger bag drop to the ground near the outside wall of the bar -- _Jamie’s_ \-- and sat on top of it, back to the wall. All through this, he could hear Trevor’s voice, rising and falling, breaking into idiot laughter, droning on in a drunken monologue which not too many years ago Mike might have found amusing. He was not amused now, just tired, so god damned tired of the bullshit.

He started talking over Trevor, not caring whether he heard him. “You have to know that promissory note isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.” There was silence now on Trevor’s end. “If you persist in this -- if you don’t call those guys off -- then I’ll have no choice but to seek legal counsel. I’m not kidding, man. You think your buddies want anywhere near the cops, or the court system? Trevor? You still there?”

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have a lawyer. You can’t get a lawyer.”

Mike reared back a little in disbelief, leaning his head against the brick wall. “Dude. I work at a law firm. My boss is the best closer in the city. These days, all I have to do is swing a dead cat and I hit a lawyer. How can I not get a lawyer? No, never mind. Don’t answer that. Don’t speak anymore. I’ve heard enough of your stupid, traitor voice.”

After a brief spate of coughing, Trevor’s venomous voice hissed, “I’ll turn you in, Mike. I’ll let everyone know you’re a fake.”

“And I’ll go to the cops. I’ll tell them everything I know about every illegal thing you’ve done in the last ten years. And there have been a lot of them, haven’t there?”

“You wouldn’t. You’d only implicate yourself. You were involved in half that stuff.”

“Not the felonies. That was all you. And you won’t have the benefit of decent counsel. You’ll get stuck with some crappy public defender. Oh, and did I mention my boss used to work in the District Attorney’s office? He still knows people there, so don’t count on being able to plead out.”

Finally, blessed silence on the other end of the line. When Trevor spoke again, his voice was softer and he sounded less certain. “These guys will fuck me up, Mike. When they find out I lied to them, I’m dead. You can’t let that happen. You can’t do that to me.”

Here was Mike’s opening to go in for the death strike, to finish him off, and he was sorely tempted.

He couldn’t do it. Trevor was right. He couldn’t just write off all their years of friendship, all of the good memories they’d built together.

He closed his eyes, ground the back of his head lightly against the brick wall, needing the subtle bite of pain against his scalp to keep from losing control. “Look, Trevor. Just get those guys off my back. I don’t care how you do it. I’m tired of this. Tired of playing these games.” _So fucking tired_. “We’re done, okay?”

Trevor’s only answer was to hang up on him, and Mike was left sitting out in the cold with nothing but silence. But only for a few seconds.

“Hey.”

He looked up at the strange voice. An older man, perhaps about forty, stood over him, eying him with interest. “Yeah?” he answered.

“You look a little...I don’t know...down on your luck?” The man wore black jeans, grey v-neck sweater and black leather jacket.

“I do?” Mike asked stupidly. He supposed he did look a little rough, sitting on the sidewalk, clothes ripped, face bruised.

The man came and leaned against the wall next to Mike, hands in his pockets. “You need money, kid?” He wasn’t looking at Mike, his gaze darting up and down the block instead.

“What? No, I don’t need money.” Feeling vaguely threatened, he stood up, wincing, and faced the man, taking a closer look at him. He was Mike’s height, in decent shape, a little rough around the edges, eyes dark and maybe a little cruel, but balanced by a lush mouth quirked into a speculative half-smile. Mike was tempted, but then he thought about Harvey and their dinner tomorrow and felt a quick stab of guilt.

Harvey wanted to talk to him. Mike hadn’t quite processed that at the time. He’d still been too rattled by his bike accident and encounter with Trevor’s friends. Sitting at the bar for an hour and a half, though....He’d had plenty of time to replay that conversation. And he couldn’t just dismiss the way he’d felt while undressing in front of Harvey, being undressed by him. He cringed inside remembering some of the things he’d said to Harvey.

The man took a step towards Mike, into his personal space, so that they stood facing one another, each with a shoulder leaning against the wall. He touched two fingers to the bruise on Mike’s cheek. “You like it rough, huh?” he asked, low and intimate.

Mike brushed his hand away, irritated. “Thanks but no thanks.” He turned to go, only to be surprised when the man’s hand whipped forward and grabbed his wrist.

“Whoa. Where you going? That ain’t polite. My friend and I seen you inside. He says you’re a pretty hot little piece of ass. And you like it rough and hard. The rougher the better. So don’t act like you’re suddenly too good for me.”

Mike stared at him. Was that true? Was he that pathetic person the man had just described? Somewhere behind him, he heard a car door shut. He blinked, looked down at the man’s hand clamped around his wrist so hard it would probably leave bruises. More bruises. More for his collection.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Vic.”

“Vic. Okay, Vic, don’t take this personally, but I’m not interested. Not tonight. Last night or the night before I would have been. I might be interested again sometime in the near future, but tonight I’m just going to go home alone if that’s all right with you.”

Vic still had a firm hold on him. Mike tried to read the expression in the other’s man’s eyes, to decide if he needed to dip into his limited repertoire of self-defense moves. He hadn’t yet come to a definitive conclusion when a familiar voice spoke behind him.

“There you are. Sorry I’m late.”

Harvey’s voice seemed to thrum against his nerve endings and he jumped back, yanking his arm away from Vic. He felt guilty, caught out, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. Harvey didn’t have any claim on him, after all.

Vic looked back and forth between the two of them, then held up his hands, surrendering. “My mistake,” he mumbled, and moved off.

Mike turned to face Harvey, who still wore his suit. His tie had been loosened ever so slightly, but other than that, he could have been on his way to a client meeting. Mike wasn’t sure if he was glad to see him or not. “You followed me,” he said, no accusation, just a statement of fact.

Harvey stepped closer, consciously or unconsciously taking up Vic’s previous pose with one shoulder leaning against the wall. “And you violated our agreement.”

Mike couldn’t work out what he meant by that. His head felt fuzzy with drink and exhaustion. “What?” he asked blankly.

Harvey’s mouth curved in disappointment. “Second clause: no risky behavior.”

_Oh._

And there it was again, that punch of guilt, as if he had somehow betrayed Harvey. “I only said I’d try. And that -- ” he waved in the direction Vic had taken. “I was in the middle of politely refusing.” That was the truth, wasn’t it?

Harvey didn’t respond. His silence and serious expression were starting to freak Mike out, so he said, “Anyway, this has been fun, but, I’ve gotta get home now.” He didn’t move and neither did Harvey.

“Do you?” asked Harvey. “Will you?”

Mike exhaled impatiently. “Why do you even care? You’re my boss, nothing more than that. Why have you suddenly turned into my...my stalker?”

Harvey slowly lifted a hand and rested it on Mike’s shoulder. “You know I’m more than just your boss. And I care because I care.”

“Okay Mr Enigmatic. Whatever.” Mike tried to move away, but Harvey’s hand tightened on him, and once more he found himself held in place. This time, he didn’t feel trapped or threatened, and he let himself imagine what it would feel like to step forward, into Harvey’s embrace.

When Harvey had left him alone these last two months, when he’d made it clear with his actions -- or rather lack of action -- that he was no longer interested in Mike as a lover, Mike had firmly shoved all of his feelings for Harvey firmly into a file labeled, “Not Gonna Happen.” Now? He wanted to hope, but Harvey was just watching him carefully, saying nothing, giving nothing away.

“What do you want from me?” he finally asked.

For half a minute, the only part of Harvey that moved were his eyes, searching Mike’s face, so dark and intense that Mike wanted to look away, but he was pinned in place. Finally Harvey stepped back, shifted so that he faced the street. “Whatever I can have,” he said softly. His mouth tightened and he shut his eyes for a second. “And I want to know, what do you want from me?”

Just that look, those soft, simple words, kicked up Mike’s emotions, shook his nerves like an explosion. Here it was, it seemed, the moment, the opening he had given up hoping for. Had he rehearsed for this? He couldn’t remember, and a coherent response eluded him. “I....,” was as far as he got. Then he heard himself say -- heard the words come out of his mouth and wanted to strangle whoever was standing behind him with their hand up his neck moving his mouth and tongue -- “Right now, I could really use a lawyer.”

He was close enough to Harvey that he could see his jaw tense and his black eyes flicker. He expected coldness, the return of Harvey’s implacable reserve, but when he turned to Mike his gaze was warm, perhaps a little amused, and he said, “I can think of several alternate responses to that. But I can see you’re serious, so I’m your guy.”


	5. Chapter 5

They ended up at Harvey’s place after all, a day before their arranged meeting. Mike relaxed on Harvey’s black leather sofa while the other man ordered a pizza. Figuring he’d had enough to drink already, Mike refused the offer of a beer and Harvey brought them each a glass of ice water, and a couple of Tylenol for Mike, who was really starting to feel the bruises from his earlier spill on the bike. Both men had discarded their suits coats, but were otherwise still completely dressed.

Which was appropriate, Mike had to concede, since in a way this was a client meeting, and he was the client.

“So,” said Harvey, sitting across from Mike, “tell me everything.”

And Mike did. It was easy enough to explain about Trevor and his “friends” and the threats to Mike. When he was done with that, though, he kept on talking, telling Harvey about how lost he’d felt lately, how out of control. He didn’t go into details about the men he had picked up, couldn’t bring himself to admit that part of him had been searching out punishment from strangers for something he couldn’t begin to articulate.

“I wish you’d come to me sooner,” Harvey said when Mike wound down.

Mike stared down at his clasped hands, nodding distractedly. “Maybe I should have. But how? We seemed okay, and then suddenly you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

He was reluctant to continue, didn’t want to reveal too much. Harvey had already made the first move outside of _Jamie’s_ , though, and if it had been a small move, for Harvey it was huge.

So Mike looked up at him, swallowing as he was captured by Harvey’s intent gaze once again. “I thought anything we might have had... that we were through. I know I asked you to put things -- us -- on hold, to give me a month. When the month was up, I waited, and waited, and kept waiting and you never said anything, just acted as if we’d never been anything more than co-workers. So I get it. Or thought I did. And I gave up. Plus, after I’d finished being pissed off at you, I realized how much you had done for me, even before... _him_. I figured you’d done enough. So....” He shrugged. “I’m not explaining this very well.”

Harvey stared back at him, lips pressed tightly together, silent for so long that Mike didn’t think he was going to respond. Finally though, he said quietly, “I was scared.” Mike’s skepticism must have shown on his face because Harvey held up a hand to stop him from saying anything. “I haven’t let anyone get to me, to get under my skin like you did, not since...well, not for a very long time. You gave me that time to think, and when I did, all I could see was you fleeing for your life, and a bullet that only needed to change its trajectory by the barest fraction to snuff you out, to end all of that life and energy and crazy humor I’ve become accustomed to. And that terrified me to my core. I didn’t want to care, believe me. But...you got to me, Mike. Got past all of my defenses. And now, well, I couldn’t just sit by and watch you head down another dark path. So -- ” He held up us hands, palms up, indicating surrender. “Here we are.”

A long silence passed between them, Harvey’s gaze on him so filled with things unspoken that Mike had to look away. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Here we are.”

The pizza arrived then, and Harvey set out plates and napkins and they satisfied the worst of their hunger, neither speaking for several minutes.

Harvey wiped grease from his lips and fingers and threw a balled up napkin down onto his empty plate. “So, Mike,” he said, “I’m a little confused. I thought you bought Trevor a bus ticket out of town. How did he end up back here?”

Mike gave a humorless laugh. “Believe it or not, he got into so much hot water in his short time in Montana, he had to leave, like, in the middle of the night. Apparently he’s not God’s gift to meth dealing the way he thought he was. And now, he seems to have picked up here where he left off before his banishment. Not a big fan of learning from his mistakes.”

“Hm,” was Harvey’s only response.

“I know, I know. I should have avoided him like the virulent plague he is.”

“But....”

“But he called and wanted to see me. I should have refused.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Mike looked away, reluctant to answer. “I was lonely,” he admitted. “And bored.” And feeling more than a little self-destructive, but he kept that to himself.

Harvey seemed to be mulling over Mike’s story. “Mike,” he finally said, “I think you must know that this has an easy enough solution. You just need to convince Trevor’s thug buddies that he lied about you. Even criminals have to abide by to a certain basic logic. If you don’t owe Trevor, you can’t owe them.”

Mike shook his head, resolute. “They’ll hurt him. They might kill him. Whatever he’s done, we have history together. He’s the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have. And....” Did he really want to admit to this next part? No, he didn’t, but if he wanted to build any kind of relationship with Harvey -- one that would stand the test of time -- then they needed to be honest with one another about everything. He took a few fortifying breaths. “After my folks died, I had my grandmother, and I had Trevor. He was everything to me. We...he was my first.”

Harvey went completely still, seemed to have stopped breathing, and Mike worried that he’d made a miscalculation. “And what is he to you now?” The question was spoken in a careful, flat tone.

Mike didn’t even hesitate with his response. “He’s my past. A memory that will never go away, just like all my other memories. But Harvey, we figured out years ago that it would never work out between us and we settled for being friends. And today, right now, my eyes are wide open. I know he’s poison, that I need to cut him out of my life for good. I don’t want to hurt him though. So, _please_. Please help me figure out a way to make this all go away without putting Trevor in danger.”

Harvey sighed, grabbed their used dishes and the empty pizza box and carried them out to the kitchen. From behind the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, he studied Mike, poker face firmly in place. “That’s a tall order. Especially since I could cheerfully kick that little shit’s ass all the way back to Montana if you’d let me.” Seeing Mike’s expression, he held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll respect your wishes. If he slips up again, though, all bets are off.”

Mike let out the breath he’d been holding, and felt some of his stress melt away. “Thank you.”

Without asking, Harvey poured them each a healthy portion of scotch and returned to the living room. He handed down a glass for Mike. Standing at the end of the sofa, he took a drink. Mike could see him savoring the alcohol, gaze fixed out the windows. Scotch wasn’t Mike’s favorite drink, but he didn’t complain. He would forever associate it with Harvey, and the the way he’d tasted when they’d kissed all those months ago. He took a cautious sip and held the heavy glass in both hands, suspended between his spread knees.

Thoughts of kissing Harvey led inevitably to thoughts of other things. These were pleasant memories, so he allowed them full reign. _Harvey moving over him, inside him, touching him as if he were more precious than all of his expensive toys._

“I have an idea.”

Mike forced the images away reluctantly and gave Harvey a questioning look.

Harvey seemed to work his tongue around the inside of his mouth, either tasting the scotch or testing his next words. Mike scooted over on the couch, making room. “Sit,” he said. “Tell me.

Harvey sat, leaned back and rested one arm on the back of the couch behind Mike. “The idea’s success depends on Trevor and how desperate he is. And the first thing we’ll need to do is find out more about his associates, and more importantly, who they work for. So here’s what I’m going to do. While you get undressed and take a nice hot shower --”

Mike perked up at that directive.

” -- I’m going to give Vanessa a call and ask her to do some digging. Then we’re going to put all of this out of our minds until tomorrow. If Vanessa comes through, and she can link your two friends to a bigger fish _....”_ He left the sentence hanging.

Mike shifted to angle his body towards Harvey. “Please tell me you’re not planning on stirring up a hornet’s nest. Because I thought the object was to defuse the situation, not throw more dynamite on the bonfire.”

Harvey ran a finger down Mike’s arm. “One thing at a time. Try turning your brain off for the night. Can you do that for me?”

Mike nodded, set his glass on the coffee table, liberated Harvey’s glass from his firm grasp and put it next to his. “I can try. But I might need some help.” He fixed his gaze on Harvey’s mouth.

“Like I told you earlier, I’m your guy.Tell me. What I can I do?”

“You mentioned something about getting undressed.” Mike leaned in and pressed his lips to Harvey’s. It was only a quick kiss, tongue slipping in andout in an exploratory maneuver. He sat back to study Harvey’s reaction.

“You know, Mike,” Harvey said conversationally, picking up his drink for a sip and putting it down again, “if we do this....” He placed a hand on Mike’s thigh as if to illustrate what “this” was. “There will be rules.”

Mike suppressed a shiver. “What sort of r-rules?” Suddenly too warm, he loosened tie.

Harvey reached for the top button of Mike’s shirt and undid it. “First rule: no secrets.”

Unsure of his voice, Mike nodded and Harvey gave a low hum of approval. He loosened Mike’s tie enough to slip it over his head and toss it aside, and then unbuttoned the next button. “Second rule: no contact with Trevor. If he contacts you, rule number one applies.”

“Agreed,” said Mike, and his voice only broke a little.

Two more buttons came open under Harvey’s nimble fingers. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Mike’s neck and licked a slow stripe up to just beneath his ear. “Third rule,” he whispered, “You’re _mine._ ” He bit down lightly.

Mike had lost track of the buttons, but now he felt his shirt tails pulled from his slacks. Harvey’s mouth migrated to Mike’s, and he slid his tongue inside, tasting and possessing and moving with an urgent tenderness that had Mike falling back to lay on the couch and reaching for his belt, only to find Harvey’s hands already there. He reached for Harvey’s buttons, but one hand pushed his hand gently away.

“Let me,” Harvey breathed. “This time, just let me.”

Mike nodded his agreement, to Harvey’s latest request, to his rules, to anything and everything Harvey wanted. Harvey’s elegant, efficient hands had him naked in no time, and then started on Harvey’s clothes. Mike’s mouth went dry watching the high-priced attorney shed his trappings, leaving just the man himself, straddling him, kneeling above him, touching and exploring Mike’s body everywhere. He _tsk’d_ a little at Mike’s bruises, and layered them with soft kisses.

Mike was about to suggest they move to the bedroom when Harvey climbed off of him and slid to the ground, kneeling on his haunches in just the right spot to --

Mike gasped and arched up as Harvey fit his lips around the head of his cock. Those lips, which could appear so hard and uncompromising, sardonic and dismissive, now those lips were suckling him with such delicate, perfect _reverence_ that Mike could barely breathe. He touched Harvey’s head, let his fingers sink into his hair. “Harvey,” he whispered.

And then Harvey swallowed him down into the convulsing liquid heat of his throat. Mike cried out, curling up a little, cradling Harvey’s head, doing his best not to just thrust up into Harvey’s throat. With ruthless expertise, Harvey teased him to the edge, one hand tracing Mike’s hipbone, the other hand thrust between his legs, thumb teasing the tender flesh of his inner thigh while two fingers caressed his pucker and his tongue swirled with filthy, agile grace around his cock.

“Harvey,” Mike gasped. “Holy fuck, _Harvey.”_

Harvey -- _jesus god oh fuck that bastard_ \-- released Mike and lifted his head. His dark gaze froze Mike, made his heart stutter in chest. “Come apart for me, baby,” he said, just before his mouth enveloped Mike once more.

And Mike came apart.

For him.

For Harvey.


	6. Chapter 6

Harvey had his eyes closed, listening to Mike breathe while he slept, thinking about what he had learned tonight. He sat on top of the covers with his back against the headboard, dressed now in pajamas bottoms and t-shirt. Watching Mike come for him like that, to shake apart for him, the sounds he had made, had undone Harvey, and afterwards, when Mike sleepily reached for him and asked if he could return the favor, Harvey could truthfully say that it wasn’t necessary. They’d ended up showering together and then Harvey had tucked Mike into his bed.

It was crystal clear now to Harvey that Mike hadn’t gotten over the events of a few months ago. He’d been suffering right under Harvey’s nose, and Harvey had failed him, which seemed to have become a terrible pattern lately. Well, he wouldn’t fail him now. Vanessa would get him the information he needed, and then if his hunch proved true, Trevor would be out of their lives forever.

What to do about Mike, though? Could it be as simple as letting him back into his life, or to regaining the close teamwork at the office that they’d had before? If fucking one another’s brains out was the solution, Harvey was all for trying that.

Mike rolled over in his sleep, onto his side, his brow creased slightly as if some worry had followed him into unconsciousness. Harvey stroked his head, and the crease smoothed out. Mike sighed, rolled onto his stomach, and ground his face into the pillow. Carefully, Harvey peeled back the covers and examined Mike’s back. The largest, freshest bruise, probably from Mike’s spill on his bike, covered one side from shoulder blade to hip. Smaller, older bruises sat in random places, like a poorly executed abstract painting. Underneath it all, Harvey could still see the tiny scars St. John had left. And that pretty much summed up the problem. It was the smaller, older wounds, the ones that barely showed anymore, that Harvey needed to worry about.

He covered Mike up and stroked his head for a few minutes, partly to soothe Mike, but mostly for himself, because it felt so good and so right to have his boy back where he belonged.

 

They had a small argument in the morning. Harvey was up early, just about ready to leave for the office when Mike padded into the living room, wrinkled and rumpled and looking adorable.

“What?” he said, seeing that Harvey was already dressed. “You’re leaving without me?”

“I’m leaving,” said Harvey, pulling on his suit jacket, “and you’re staying here.”

“No. I’m going with you.”

“No, you’ll stay here where you’re safe.”

Mike ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be bored out of my mind. And useless to you. You sure you’re not purposely delaying my return so you can keep working with Gregory?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

Mike visibly relaxed at that, but wasn’t quite ready to give in. “I can adapt to the circumstances. I’ll ride in with you, and I won’t step foot outside the building until we leave for the night.”

Harvey shook his head. “Mike, you told me yourself that you were attacked right in front of the building, and that those assholes took one of your business cards. So now they know what floor you work on. Do you really think it would be so difficult for one or both of them to talk themselves past security to pay you a personal visit at your desk?”

Mike switched tactics, making an idiotic frowny-face. “Please? I’ll miss you, Harvey.”

“Stop that.”

Mike pulled his t-shirt up, exposing his chest. Face going slack, he started caressing himself, thumbing one nipple erect. “I’ll really, really miss you.”

After only the briefest hesitation, Harvey turned his back, hiding his smile. “Good. When I get home tonight, you can show me how much you missed me.”

A slipper hit him in the back of his head. He snorted and opened the front door, took a step outside, paused, turned around and walked straight back to Mike. Holding the back of Mike’s neck, he leaned in and kissed him, keeping his mouth soft, tongue slow and searching, until Mike’s hands came up to grasp his lapels, one leg thrusting between Harvey’s.

Finally, Harvey lifted his head. Both men were breathing harshly. Harvey stepped back, straightened his jacket, and walked out the door. “Behave yourself,” he said over his shoulder just before closing the door a little too hard.

 

Harvey was in his office when Vanessa called just before three o’clock. Harvey almost didn’t pick up, assuming it was Mike again, calling to ask if Harvey needed anything, asking him where he kept the waffle iron, asking him what he was wearing, trying to initiate phone sex. He glanced at the screen, though, and seeing who it was, he answered.

“What did you find out?”

“Hello, Harvey. How are you, Harvey? So sorry you were woken up late last night and haven’t slept since then, Harvey. No. Wait. That was me.”

“Okay, smart-ass. I am sorry, but like I told you, this needs to be resolved fast.”

“Well,” she said, “good thing you called me then. Turns out those two guys who Mike ran into yesterday are muscle for Victor Goyette.”

Harvey gave a low whistle. “I have to hand it to this Trevor kid: he knows how to dig himself in deep.”

“Actually, he wasn’t digging so much as climbing. Word is that he managed to scheme his way into Goyette’s outer circle, and was aiming for the inner, when he messed up and overextended himself.”

Harvey was thinking quickly. “So he’s probably seen some things and heard some things that might be of interest to the organized crime task force.”

“If you’re thinking what I assume you are, you’d better move fast because _further_ word is that Goyette’s looking for both a Trevor Evans and Mike Ross, and has offered a handsome reward for anyone who brings them to him.”

Harvey’s stomach lurched at that news, although it shouldn’t have surprised him. “Shit. That’s just great. Okay, thanks, Van. Send me your bill. I’ll talk to you later.”

Despite his claim of urgency, Harvey wasted a few minutes staring blindly out his window. He really didn’t want to make this call, wasn’t sure if he’d left any outstanding favors behind when he resigned from the District Attorney’s office. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Cameron Dennis for over five years, and wouldn’t mind avoiding the bastard for the rest of his life. But, he told himself, it wasn’t Cameron who would be doing him a favor, it was him handing Cameron a case that could potentially boost the DA up onto the next rung of success and power.

Not that Harvey wanted to give that to a man he knew didn’t play by the rules. The whole idea left a bad taste in his mouth, but he’d have to swallow that for now, in order to help Mike.

So he dialed Cameron’s number and when he was put through, and they had exchanged their fake pleasantries, Harvey said, “Cameron, how would you like to be the guy to put away Victor Goyette?”

 

******

 

Mike was _bored._ Bored, bored, _bored._

Bored and antsy. He needed work to keep him busy, to keep his mind occupied and well away from things he didn’t want to think about. Stuck suddenly with nothing to do but watch movies he’d already seen or read books he could have recited from memory, his thoughts were free to turn toward the ugly memories that always lurked just below the surface. To delay their grip, he amused himself for a while by harassing Harvey every half hour or so, harassing Donna exactly once, cooking horrid waffles from scratch -- and seriously, who didn’t keep a box of _Betty Crocker_ pancake mix or _Bisquick_ in their cupboard?

He finally settled onto the couch to watch _Dr. Zhivago_. Harvey owned the original version, thank god, not the horrific remake, and Mike managed to get caught up in the story enough to forget about his current and recent troubles. A half eaten bowl of microwave popcorn sat on his stomach and a half-empty bottle of beer dangled from one hand. Komarovsky was in the coach with Lara, about to have his wicked way with her, when someone knocked loudly on the front door and Mike jumped about a foot, knocking the bowl off of his stomach and spilling popcorn everywhere.

“Shit,” he muttered, brushing himself off and carrying the beer to the door with him.

If he’d been in his own shitty apartment, in his own shitty neighborhood, he would have looked through the peephole before he opened the door. Here at Harvey’s, it felt too safe and secure to bother with such precautions. He opened the door.

The two men from the previous evening stood in the hallway, and the shorter one -- Jake, Mike remembered -- had his gun pointed at Mike’s chest.

_What do you do when someone has a gun to your head? Well, gee whiz. That was an easy one. The same thing you do when they have one pointed at your heart._

He slowly raised his hands. The beer bottle fell to the floor with a heavy clunk.

“Are you alone?”

“Shit, Jake, don’t ask him if he’s alone. We already made sure of that. It makes you look stupid.”

They slipped inside and shut the door behind them.

Mike couldn’t think of what to say. He couldn’t believe these two guys had found him here. While Jake kept his gun trained on Mike, the other man prowled around, every now and then whistling or shaking his head at what he had found. To Mike, it felt like a couple of lower level goons had stumbled into the Bat Cave. It felt all wrong.

“Hey,” he finally said, when not-Jake had pulled out one of Harvey’s records and was studying the label. “That’s not even my stuff, so....”

“Shut up,” not-Jake said, motioning absently to Jake, who stepped next to Mike and backhanded him across the face. His head snapped to the side and he glared at the grinning criminal.

“Sit down. On the couch.”

Jake gestured with the gun, and after only the briefest hesitation, Mike sat, rubbing his face. He looked over, surprised, when Jake sat on the other end of the couch, keeping his gun pointed at Mike while staring at the television.

“Hey,” said Jake, “I fucking love this movie. That Strelnikov dude is so bad ass.”

Mike gave him a disbelieving stare. “Strelnikov? Really? He’s a fucking plot point, a ridiculously obvious symbol of the barren, emotionless underpinnings of -- ”

A small crash brought his head around to not-Jake, who had snapped one of Harvey’s precious pieces of vinyl in two and tossed it against the window. “Hey, genius! No one gives a shit.”

Mike pressed his lips together. The guy had a valid point. Why was he bothering to argue with the cretin?

_Focus, Mike._

“Look, guys,” he said, keeping a close watch on both of them, in case they decided he needed another smack, “why don’t you tell me what it is you want. And kindly leave Harvey’s stuff alone. He has nothing to do with any of this.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Harvey, if I were you, kid.” Not-Jake grabbed a handful of records and sailed them toward the kitchen. He followed their path, went into the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards. As he spoke, he punctuated his words by dropping Harvey’s glasses onto the floor. “I’d worry more -- ” _crash_ ” -- about yourself.” _Crash. Crash._ “But you can get rid of us real easy.” The bowl of leftover waffle batter hit the floor, upside down. “Just make good on Trevor’s debt, and we’ll leave you alone to clean up this mess.”

“I can’t do that,” Mike said.

“What’s that?” Not-Jake opened another cupboard, probably intending more dish-carnage, but he paused and his face lit up with a grin. “Your Harvey’s got great taste.” He pulled out a bottle of scotch, opened it and drank. “Nice.” He stalked back into the living room, cradling the bottle in one arm. “So, Mikey, you want to repeat that?”

Pushing down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, Mike said, enunciating carefully, “I can’t pay you. I don’t have the money.”

He held a rapid internal debate, and was on the verge of telling them that the promissory note Trevor had shown them was fabricated, because fuck Trevor anyway. Just then, at some subtle signal from his accomplice, Jake slid across the space of the couch separating him from Mike, and jammed the gun barrel against his temple. “Better not move,” he said, grinning. “My friend Charles is gonna give you a little something.

Mike held as still as he could, only barely moving his lips to say, “That’s okay. I don’t think he’s got anything I want.”

Not-Jake, whose actual name was apparently Charles, set the scotch on the coffee table, squatted beside Mike and grabbed his wrist, straightening his arm out. “Mike,” he said, voice serious and almost professional, “are you allergic to any medications?”

Mike stared, confused. “What? No. No, I’m not.”

Charles produced a small leather bag from his coat pocket and Mike watched, disbelieving, as he pulled out a squeeze bottle and cotton balls and swabbed the crook of Mike’s arm with cool liquid. When he pulled out a hypodermic needle, Mike started to struggle, only to have the gun jammed viciously against his head by Jake, who also planted his knee on Mike’s leg. Simultaneously, Charles bent his arm the wrong way until Mike was gasping and writhing with pain.

“Hold still,” ordered Charles. “I know what I’m doing.” He eased the pressure on Mike’s arm.

“Used to be a paramedic,” Jake told Mike conversationally.

“Jake, shut the fuck up.” And Charles, having found a vein to his liking, jabbed the needle into Mike’s arm and hit the plunger.

Almost immediately, Mike started to feel woozy. “Whoa. Not bad, Charles. I almost didn’t feel it going in.”

“He’s pretty good, huh?” That, from Jake.

Mike was losing feeling in his extremities. The fear, at least, had faded for the time being. “Guys, you do realize you’re never going to get me past the doorman, right?”

“Which is why,” said Charles, busy packing up his little bag, “we’re taking the elevator straight to the parking garage.”

“It’s....” Mike slumped down in the seat, felt hands under his arms lifting his limp body. “It’s a secure building.” That struck his as funny and he tried to laugh, but he couldn’t feel his tongue, or his mouth or remember what the joke was

Just before darkness claimed him, he heard Jake say, “We’re _criminals_ , Mike. This is what we do. Geez.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This timeline assumes that Trevor and Harvey have never met face to face. Also, the police stuff is all speculative and I fully admit that I have no idea what I'm talking about, just making it up and trying not to live up to my name too much. ;)

Harvey leaned his shoulder against the wall of the interview room, watching Detective Murrow and Cameron Dennis throw questions at a sullen, unresponsive Trevor Evans. The kid slouched in his chair, handcuffed hands dangling between his knees, a defiant look on his face that had Harvey itching to slap it off.

Following Harvey’s call to Cameron, it had take three hours to locate Trevor, and that had only been possible because, on a hunch, Harvey had suggested they try Mike’s apartment. A black and white had been dispatched, and Trevor was handcuffed, hustled into the backseat and driven straight downtown.

Trevor smirked at the three men in the room, his gaze skimming over Harvey without even a flicker of recognition. “So when are you going to read me my rights?” He leaned back in the chair, stretching one leg out in front of him. “I mean, you dragged me in here, but I haven’t heard a word yet about any charges.”

Detective Murrow, who headed the organized crime task force, was a weary looking man in his late forties who wore a cheap suit and a perpetually skeptical expression. He tapped his blunt fingers on the scarred table top and said in a soft, gravelly voice, “We know you work for Victor Goyette. We have photographs, recordings of phone calls -- ”

“You don’t have dick,” Trevor sneered. “If you did, you’d be charging me with something. So why don’t you either tell me what this farce is about, get me a lawyer, or cut me loose?”

Cameron perched on the edge of the table and leaned toward Trevor. “Let’s be very clear here. We have plenty we could charge you with, but you? You’re hardly worth our time. It’s your lucky day, though, Trevor. We’re here to present you with an opportunity. And if you have any sense, you’ll listen carefully to what we have to say. Because we know, and you know, that Victor Goyette is looking for you, and he is not happy. If he finds you, you’ll wish you were locked up somewhere safe and sound. If you refuse to cooperate with us, we’ll cut you loose, we’ll make it nice and public, and good luck finding another spot to hole up where Goyette can’t find you.”

Trevor’s expression grew uncertain, although the cocky slouch remained. “I’m listening,” he said, voice neutral.

While Cameron outlined the information and subsequent testimony they wanted from Trevor, and explained about the witness protection program they were offering in return, Harvey studied the kid closely. So this was Mike’s oldest and best friend. His ex-lover. To Harvey’s eyes, he didn’t look like much. Not bad looking, in a brutish, uncouth sort of way, but nobody that deserved someone like Mike. Harvey felt his right hand tightening into a fist, and rubbed it absently with his other hand, imagining how great it would feel to drive it straight into the smug punk’s mouth.

The mouth that was currently moving, was currently rejecting what Harvey knew to be a more than generous offer. “Nah. You really think I’d turn on my friends like that? What do I look like?”

That was too much, and even though he’d agreed to stay quiet and remain in the background, Harvey stepped forward, ignoring Cameron’s annoyed glare.

“Really?” asked Harvey. “You wouldn’t turn on your friends? What about your friend named Mike Ross? You turned on him pretty thoroughly. But then you’ve only know him for, what, ten? Fifteen years? If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to turn down this chance, because the only reason it’s being offered to you at all is because I want you as far away from Mike as possible, and because Mike refused to turn on you the way you turned on him.”

Trevor had grown pale at Harvey’s words, straightening up and giving an uneasy glance at Cameron and Murrow. He gestured towards Harvey with his cuffed hands. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

Cameron stood up and put a hand on Harvey’s shoulder in a subtle warning. “Oh, did I not introduce you? Trevor Evans, meet Harvey Specter, senior partner at Pearson Hardman.”

Trevor relaxed a little and grinned. “Oh. You’re _that_ guy. Mike’s boss.” He leaned back, bringing his chair up onto two legs, and barked out a laugh. “Shit. So this is what this is all about. Little Mikey thought he could bring in the big guns on me.”

“Mike doesn’t even know I’m talking to you.”

“Well, I must be pretty important if I’ve got the district attorney plus a big time attorney in here with me.”

Cameron responded before Harvey got the chance. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re less than nothing in all this. We want Goyette. Now, make no mistake, Goyette is going down regardless of your testimony. You simply have the opportunity to bring that about more quickly, earn yourself a new life, and save your own sorry ass in the process.”

Detective Murrow had watched all of this byplay with an air of world-weary amusement. Now, he opened his mouth as if about to speak, but his cell phone rang and he rose and went out of the room to answer it.

“So Trevor,” Harvey said conversationally, “what were you doing at Mike’s place today?”

The front legs of Trevor’s chair hit the linoleum floor with a thud. He laid his cuffed hands on the table top and stared down at them, smirking.

Harvey walked around the table and sat in the chair opposite Trevor. “The cops who brought you in said they found you watching _Judge Judy_ and eating a sandwich. I’ll bet you could have stayed home and managed that same level of excitement. Why travel twenty blocks to achieve the same thing?” When Trevor just shrugged, Harvey bent down a little trying to catch his eye. “Did your good friend Victor Goyette have you running scared?”

Trevor’s eyes flashed up and then back down again. “Fuck you,” he muttered.

Harvey glanced at Cameron, who was watching him with a quizzical look. “No, Trevor,” Harvey said. “I think it’s you that’s fucked. Goyette is looking for you. You screwed up big time, and you tried to dump all of your problems off onto Mike, but that didn’t quite work out the way you wanted it to, now did it?”

Any answer Trevor might have given was cut off when Detective Murrow came back through the door, his expression suddenly animated. “Goyette’s surveillance team just spotted his two lieutenants arriving at his brownstone.” He looked straight at Harvey. “They were supporting an unconscious man between them when they entered.”

Harvey felt all the air leave his lungs. He forced himself to breathe, not to jump to conclusions.

“Did they get an ID?” Cameron asked.

“They texted me this,” said Murrow, holding up his phone to show them his screen. There was a slightly blurry shot of two men supporting a third between them, climbing the front steps of an immaculate looking building.

“Mike,” breathed Harvey.

Almost simultaneously, Trevor shot to his feet and yelled, “That’s Mike! Shit.”

“ _Sit down,_ ” Cameron snapped, and Trevor sat, face pale with distress.

Shaking off his own shock, Harvey stood up. “Have your guys gone in yet? We should get over there.” His thoughts were racing as he tried to imagine how they had grabbed Mike, what they’d used to knock him out. If they’d harmed him... He was at the door before he realized that no one else was moving. Murrow had his arms crossed, and Cameron was eying him with something that looked like pity.

“What?” he asked. “Does no one else see the urgency here?”

Murrow sighed. “We can’t just go charging in there. We can’t exactly prove that Mr. Ross went there against his will. He doesn’t appear to be injured, and they could claim he was ill or drunk, and they were just giving him a hand.”

“That’s complete bullshit. I think the men in that photo are the ones that nearly got Mike killed yesterday. They threatened him with a gun, for fuck’s sake.” Murrow’s expression remained impassive, so Harvey turned to his former boss. “Cameron -- ” he started, but the other man held up his hand, cutting him off.

“We need charges that will stick, Harvey. Maybe we could send a couple of Goyette’s employees up for a few years, but nothing here implicates Goyette. We can’t show them our cards yet.”

Harvey’s hands were clenching into fists again. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “They’ve kidnapped an innocent man. Probably drugged him, or worse.”

“Again, regrettable, but we have to think of the big picture here.”

“Goddamn it, Cameron. If you think I’m going to just stand by while -- ” He broke off, not wanting to articulate his fears. Tears of anger and frustration pricked his eyes and he turned away, trying to regain control, to engage his rational brain and formulate an argument.

Detective Murrow cleared his throat. “We could enter the premises if....” Here, he glanced at Trevor. “We need probable cause.”

“You already have it,” Harvey snapped. He caught the direction of Murrow’s gaze, and turned his own on Trevor. All of the cockiness seemed to have left his expression and posture. He looked positively rattled. Harvey walked slowly back to the chair he had vacated earlier and sat down. “Trevor,” he said, forcing himself to kept his tone reasonable, “you’ve known Mike a long time, haven’t you?”

Trevor nodded without meeting Harvey’s eyes.

“You were his friend when his parent’s were killed, weren’t you?”

Another jerky nod.

“And you went to Columbia together.”

“Dude, what’s your point?”

Harvey sighed, trying to push back his growing sense of urgency. “If I recall correctly, it’s your fault Mike was kicked out, and why he couldn’t go to Harvard. And my _point_ , before you ask again, is that you fucking owe him something.” Against his best intentions, his voice had begun to rise again. “Last night, I tried like hell to get him to throw you under the bus to save himself and he refused. Said he still cared about you. So I think you should reach deep inside of yourself and find that little scrap of human decency you still possess and _do the right fucking thing!_ ” He slammed his palm against the table top, and suddenly he was standing, leaning in towards Trevor, trembling with rage, and he so very badly wanted to grab Trevor and shake him until his teeth shook loose inside his head.

That turned out to be unnecessary.

All at once, Trevor flushed deep red. He hid his face in his hands for a moment and then raked them up through his hair. He looked up at Harvey and then around the room at Cameron and Murrow. “All right,” he bit out. “I’ll do it. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just one thing, okay?” They all waited, and after a few seconds he said, “Don’t send me back to Montana. I hate that fucking place.”

And just like that, Harvey could breathe again, so relieved he was almost light-headed. He was vaguely aware of Murrow sitting down in Harvey’s former seat, turning on a recording device, and starting to take Trevor’s statement.

He didn’t notice Cameron move until he had sidled up beside Harvey, arms crossed, with a look of gleeful malice on his face. He leaned his head toward Harvey and whispered, just loud enough for Harvey to hear, “So. Mike Ross never went to Harvard?”

Harvey froze, shocked, hardly able to believe what he had revealed.

_Oh, fuck me._

 

******

 

When Mike woke up, it was dark and he was alone. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. He was lying on a hardwood floor, in what looked like a small, cozy bedroom. He went to raise his head, waking a sharp pain in his skull, and moved more carefully as he sat up and leaned back against the twin bed next to him. He frowned, confused. Even in the shadowy darkness, he could make out gilt-framed botanical prints gracing the cream walls, matching oak bookshelves bracketing the door, and a bed that was neatly made up with a quilt his grandmother would have loved. Three teddy bears leaned against the plush satin pillows.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “I’ve been kidnapped by Martha Stewart.” He blinked a few times, looking around more critically, and this time he spotted the closed-circuit camera pointed directly at the bed, and the handcuffs and box of condoms sitting on the nightstand.

_Okay, so Martha was little kinky._

The door opened, letting in bright light from the hallway.

Jake, in shirtsleeves and wearing his gun in a shoulder holster, stood holding the knob, looking in on Mike. He called over his shoulder, “Yeah, boss, he’s awake.”

Jake entered the room and grabbed Mike under his shoulder, hauling him to his feet. Mike wobbled, swayed, and nearly toppled both himself and Jake to the bed, but he managed to remain standing. When he cut his gaze to Jake’s gun, he must have been too obvious because Jake stepped away and drew the damned thing, pointing it at Mike and using it to gesture towards the hallway.

“Come on,” he said. “Boss wants to see you.”

Mike swayed again, the pain in his skull increasing, and he had to swallow a few times past the dryness in his mouth and throat to keep from throwing up.

“Out the door and to your right, Mikey. Get moving.”

Feeling as if he were trying to navigate the surface of a trampoline, Mike led the way out of the room, grabbed onto the door jamb for a second and turned right, down a short hallway decorated with black and white photographs and a floral runner. When he reached the end of the hall, Jake grabbed his arm and escorted him into a dining room. A man sat alone at the table, with a plate of food and a glass of wine in front of him. He put down his knife and fork and when his dark eyes met Mike, he gave a noticeable start of surprise.

Mike blinked back at the man with the cruel eyes and lush lips and made a strange, strangled noise. “You?” he whispered. It was the man who had propositioned him outside of _Jamie’s_ last night.

“That’s right, Mikey,” said Jake. “Meet Victor Goyette.”

Goyette recovered with impressive speed. “So,” he said, and took a leisurely drink of wine, “this is the famous Mike Ross.”

Mike laughed nervously. “Famous?”

“Oh, definitely,” he picked up his fork again and gestured with it, beckoning Mike closer. “Come in. Sit with me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Jake give his boss a puzzled look. He also still had his gun pointed in Mike’s direction, so Mike walked to the table and sat down across from Goyette.

Goyette’s dark eyes studied him, mouth twitching with humor. “Trevor couldn’t sing your praises enough, Mike. Always going on about how smart you are. What a phenomenal memory you’ve got.” His gaze dropped lower, as if he could see through the table top. “What a hot piece of ass you are.”

Jake coughed, as if embarrassed.

“Jake, cuff our guest to the chair, please. Then leave us alone.”

Jake walked over to what looked like an antique mahogany sideboard and opened a drawer, rummaging through its contents. Mike watched him pull out a pad of paper, several pens, two handguns, a box of bullets, a pair of scissors, a half-burnt candle, a hammer, a neat coil of yellow nylon rope, pruning shears and three pairs of handcuffs all tangled up together. He tested two pairs of cuffs, was unable to open them, and had success with the third pair. Shoving everything else back into the drawer with a sweep of his arm, he walked back to Mike and efficiently cuffed his wrist to the armrest of his chair. With one last searching look at his boss, he left the room, closing the double doors behind him.

Through it all, Goyette calmly finished his meal, watching Mike with a disconcerting half-smile so that finally Mike had to drop his own gaze because that smile and those black, unblinking eyes were starting to freak him out. He tried hard not to let his mind wander back to another time he’d been restrained, but sick fear gripped him, the aftereffects of the drug making him feel fuzzy and detached. His head still pounded, although thankfully the pain had dulled somewhat.

After a time he heard Goyette drop his knife and fork onto his plate and push his chair back. Mike looked up to find Goyette staring absently past him. Mike cleared his throat. Frightened of what the answer might be, he asked, “What happens now?”

Goyette had produced a toothpick from somewhere, and was rolling it around in his mouth. “The way this normally goes,” he said, “is that I explain about the importance of making good on your debts, and then I call Jake and Charles in here to reinforce the lesson.”

“Oh.”

“You, though....” Goyette pulled the toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at Mike. “You are an interesting case.” After pouring himself some more wine, he picked up the glass, stood up, and then walked around the table and sat in the chair next to Mike. He drank, licked his lips and smiled. “A Harvard educated lawyer.”

 Mike swallowed, nodded his head jerkily.

“Student debt’s a bitch, isn’t it Mike?”

“Uh. About that. Trevor doesn’t....I don’t actually owe him that money.” He did his best to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt at giving his friend up like that.

Goyette just waved a hand, still smiling. “I figured as much. That boy is a sneak and a serial liar. Thinks I’m a fool. I mean, where would he get that kind of money in the first place, right?”

Mike frowned. “Then why...?” He shook his cuffed wrist.

With the air of someone who just couldn’t stop himself, Goyette reached over and ran a finger over Mike’s hand and his around his wrist, tracing the metal cuff. “Because Trevor does owe me money. Quite a bit of it. And despite his ridiculous lie, and his spineless compulsion to save his own skin, he obviously thinks the world of you. Thinks you walk on water, that you’re some amazing, mythical creature, making good in the world, and shining your reflected glory down on him.”

Mike sputtered out a laugh. “We’re talking about Trevor here, right? Trevor Evans?”

Goyette shrugged. His hand moved away and Mike sagged a with relief.

“He’s an unevolved little shit, isn’t he? But I’m telling you the truth. Which is why we’re here.” Goyette drained his glass. “The plan, Mike, was to start sending you back to him in pieces. You know, something to get his attention, make him see the seriousness of the situation.”

Mike went cold, his cursed memory calling up the contents of the drawer in the mahogany sideboard, lingering over the pruning shears, imagining what they could do to a finger, or.... He realized he’d begun to hyperventilate, and forced himself to slow his breathing, keep his brain engaged with what Goyette was saying. _Was,_ he’d said. The plan _was,_ not _is._ He licked his lips, forced himself to speak, to ask, “And what’s the plan now?”

Goyette pretended to think about that, pursing his mouth and tilting his head. “Well, Mike, as you can probably imagine, a man in my line of work sometimes has the need for a good attorney.”

Mike didn’t know precisely what his line of work was, but he could certainly make an educated guess. Drugs, for sure. He remembered the camera and cuffs in the all too feminine bedroom, and wondered just what else Goyette did. He was startled out of his thoughts when Goyette walked around behind him and stroked his hand over Mike’s head in a possessive manner that had him squirming.

Goyette leaned down and whispered in Mike’s ear, “Are you a good attorney, Mike? Will you be good for me?” He circled back around in front of Mike and dragged his thumb over Mike’s lower lip. His head descended, moving in for a kiss or a bite, and Mike cringed, trying to get away from Goyette’s touch.

_God. No. This was not happening. Not again_.

Panic flared inside of him and he stood up, too quickly, knocking the chair over and crashing down on top of it, smacking an elbow and then the back of his head on the hardwood floor. He had a vague, momentary awareness of Goyette grinning down at him as he scrambled backwards, dragging the chair with him by his cuffed wrist.

And then the door to the room burst inwards and men and women in tactical gear carrying firearms and shouting commands swarmed into the room, swarmed over Goyette, swarmed like human-sized ants everywhere and Mike shut his eyes and listened to the wonderful sounds of it as first his fear and then his awareness faded away.


	8. Chapter 8

Mike was sitting up on a gurney in the ER when Harvey tracked him down, still wearing the t-shirt and pajama pants Harvey had last seen him in. The boy looked tired and stressed, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

“They said you were fine,” Harvey said, “but I needed to see for myself.” He touched Mike’s knee briefly to reassure himself of Mike’s solidity, and Mike smiled weakly up at him. Harvey glanced around, then pulled the thick curtain closed on the little alcove and moved closer to Mike, stroking a hand over his head and down to the back of neck, which he held as he leaned in for a quick kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now. Still a little zonked out from whatever that asshole gave me, but ready to go home.” He raised an eyebrow hopefully.

Guilt gnawed at Harvey, guilt and worry about what Cameron would do when the twenty-four hour grace period he’d given Harvey – and Mike – had expired. Not letting any of that show outwardly, he gave Mike a smile. “I’ve been told that you’ve been cleared to leave. I’ve got a car downstairs.” He frowned at Mike’s bare feet. “Do you have some shoes around here somewhere?”

Mike pointed at the chair in the corner of the room, underneath which Harvey found a pair of slippers he recognized as his own. He handed them to Mike and watched him put them on. Mike slid off the table and wobbled a little before putting a hand on Harvey’s shoulder to steady himself. Harvey put his hands on Mike’s hips.

“Maybe I should get you a wheelchair,” Harvey suggested, doing his best to ignore how good Mike felt under his hands.

Mike grimaced. “I’m okay. I gave my statement to the cops, and I’ve already signed all the paperwork. Let’s just get the hell out of here before they change their minds.”

Harvey acquiesced readily. This was all reminding him too much of Mike’s last hospital visit, and he was relieved that Mike’s latest misadventure had left him in better shape than last time. He placed a stabilizing arm across Mike’s back and they walked to the exit together, where Mike balked at being left to wait while Harvey went to get the car.

“I’m perfectly fine. No concussion, no injuries, and I’ve been plenty higher than this and still made my way around okay.”

So Harvey gave in and they walked slowly through the parking structure while Mike peppered Harvey with questions.

“Goyette’s really locked up? For good? And the two guys that grabbed me?”

“Yes to all. And the DA assures me that with your friend’s statement he has more than enough for convictions all around. It’s likely that they’ll all plead out, and you’ll never be called to testify.”

“What about Trevor?”

Harvey hesitated. He really wanted to elaborate on how hard he’d had to push Trevor to get him to cooperate and help Mike, but decided that getting the little asshole out of town was victory enough, so he just said, “He’s gone. WitSec is relocating him, I don’t know where, obviously.”

Mike looked sad at that, but he didn’t say anything. They made it the rest of the way to the car in silence, and Harvey drove them back to his Manhattan condo.

“Shit,” said Mike, when Harvey opened his front door. “I forgot about all…this.” He made a gesture encompassing the mess in Harvey’s living room and kitchen.

A beer bottle lay against the wall near the front door, the contents having spilled out onto the marble entryway. From where they stood, Harvey could see broken records, broken glass and some kind of spilled food on the kitchen floor. _Charming._

“Well, there goes your security deposit,” Harvey deadpanned.

“I’m sorry, Harvey. I’ll clean it up.” Mike bent to pick up the beer bottle, but Harvey pried it from his hand and gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the bedroom.

“All you’re going to do is get into my bed and stay there for the rest of the night.” Which wasn’t asking a whole lot, since it was already well after midnight.

Mike moved reluctantly in the direction Harvey had pushed him. “I reserve the right to make this up to you,” he said, just before breaking into a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Noted.” He watched as Mike took a detour into the bathroom, and then gave his attention over to cleaning up. It looked bad, but in reality Goyette’s thugs had not been nearly as thorough as they could have been if they had really made an effort. Harvey swept up broken glass, and scraped and sponged half-dried batter off the kitchen floor. He grieved briefly over the rare vinyl what would be difficult – if not impossible – to replace.

_Better some trashed records than a broken Mike._

No, apparently, that unpleasantness would be left to Harvey, after he told Mike what Cameron Dennis now knew.

With the worst of the damage cleaned up, Harvey fixed himself a drink, sat on the couch and replayed the conversation he’d had with Cameron after he’d let the truth slip out concerning Mike’s lack of credentials.

 

_“No degree from Harvard?” Cameron was incredulous, voice scornful. “But Harvey, I thought that was Pearson Hardman’s claim to fame.” He studied Harvey’s expression, and understanding dawned. “My god, Harvey.” A sharp laugh. “I’m just going to go ahead and guess here…the kid’s not a real lawyer.”_

_No one but Cameron could have made that mental leap, and Harvey cursed the fact that his former mentor read him so well. And the truth was, Harvey wasn’t ready for this conversation. He wanted to come back with a glib lie, to deny the truth, but worry about Mike distracted him, and he doubted that Cameron would have believed him anyway. He couldn’t do anything but admit that he’d made a fatal, thoughtless error, engage in some serious damage control and somehow mitigate any harm to Mike._

_“This was all me, Cameron,” he said. “Jessica doesn’t know. It was my idea, not Mike’s. I don’t want him to suffer for this.”_

_“Keep dreaming, Harvey.”_

_“Cameron -- shit. Then wait, at least. Give us some time. Let me be the one to tell him.”_

_Cameron regarded Harvey thoughtfully, expression calculating. “I really shouldn’t do this...but all right. For old time’s sake, I’ll give you until close of business tomorrow. After that, charges will be brought, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that practicing law without a license is now a class E felony in New York.”_

_Harvey was all too aware of that. It had been a misdemeanor when he hired Mike, but last year the state legislature had decided it needed to crack down, and voted to reclassify the crime and increase the penalty. As it stood now, Mike was potentially facing up to four years in prison._

 

Harvey stared down into his empty glass and gave a low, heartfelt curse. He didn’t make these kinds of mistakes. He’d let himself get too emotional, forgot who was in the interview room with him, and now Mike was going to pay the price. Cameron might find some way to drag Harvey down too, but right now that didn’t seem as important. He glanced down the hallway at the open door to his bedroom. Mike was in there, sleeping or maybe awake, waiting for him. And although guilt and regret were eating at Harvey, he couldn’t stay away.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, he stood at the foot of the bed, slowly undressing, watching Mike’s form, listening to his steady breathing and soft sighs. Harvey slid naked under the covers and Mike rolled to face him, eyes opening sleepily. He’d showered and he smelled like Harvey’s shampoo and body wash. His hair was still damp. Like Harvey, he was naked.

They both moved at once, arms twining one around the other, groins grinding together, legs tangling in the sheets. Harvey rolled them so he was on top and pressed Mike back into the pillows. For a few moments, he just gazed down at him, memorizing his face, wishing his memory was as flawless as Mike’s so he could call up this moment whenever he wished, regardless of what might happen in the future. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against Mike’s, heard the other man moan in the back of his throat. Harvey softened his lips, felt Mike’s mouth open beneath him, and slipped his tongue in, exploring and tasting.

He broke the kiss and moved his mouth to Mike’s neck, just under his ear, breathing in the scent of him before nipping and sucking and licking at his neck. Mike’s hands cradled Harvey’s skull, holding him in place, and then moved lower, to his shoulders, while his strong, biker’s legs snaked around Harvey’s hips, bringer them more tightly together. Mike humped and ground against him, driving Harvey crazy. He raised his head from Mike’s neck and a made a sound somewhere between a moan and a laugh. It felt so good and so right to have Mike back in his bed.

“Are you up for this?” he had to ask, all too aware of what Mike had been through.

Mike rubbed his cock against Harvey’s thigh. “Feel for yourself, old man.”

“Hey. Who are you calling -- ”

“More fucking. Less talking.”

That sounded like a perfect plan. Harvey leaned over Mike and grabbed for the lube and a condom. He knelt up and looked on approvingly as Mike grabbed his own legs behind his knees and held them up, exposing himself to Harvey, whose mouth had suddenly gone dry. Hurriedly squirting lube onto his fingers, he pressed them to Mike’s pucker, taking a moment to massage teasingly until Mike was squirming and breathing hard. He pushed the tip of one finger into Mike, pressing slowly inwards. Mike let out a prolonged breath, and suddenly Harvey’s finger just disappeared into the moist, clinging warmth.

“I’m good, Harvey,” Mike whispered. “Come on. Do it. I want you inside me now.

Harvey stared intently down at him and shoved two fingers in. “Greedy boy,” he chided.

Blue eyes flashing, Mike ground down on Harvey’s fingers, grinding his ass in a tight circle and grunting a little as his eyes fluttered shut. “Please, Harvey,” he gasped. “Need you in me.”

Harvey’s fingers made a wet sound as he pulled them out, and Mike’s sudden keen of loss did electric things to Harvey’s spine. He ripped open the condom wrapper and rolled the condom onto his hard, leaking cock with shaking hands. Using more lube, he slicked himself up. He placed one hand flat on Mike’s stomach, lined himself up, and began what he intended to by a slow push in. Mike, however, had other ideas. He wrapped his legs around Harvey’s waist and bore down on him.

“Mike. I don’t – “ Harvey started, but the words caught in his throat at Mike’s loud, satisfied moan, and Harvey slid home with an answering groan, Mike’s heat so tight and welcoming it stole his breath. For a moment, he could only stare down at Mike’s half-lidded eyes, entranced by the ecstatic look on his face. Once again, he found himself trying to memorize the moment.

Mike’s hips jerked, and he clutched Harvey’s shoulders almost painfully tight. “Move, Harvey,” he urged. “Fucking move!”

Harvey gave him a dangerous look, then yanked Mike’s legs up over his shoulders. He thrust savagely in and out several times and stopped. “Is that what you want?” he asked, low and dark. “You want me to pound you through the mattress?”

Mike swallowed and nodded. “Fuck yes,” he breathed. “Make me feel it.”

Harvey flexed his hips and shoved in hard, and Mike made a beautiful “Unh” sound, eyes rolling back in his head, hands gripping the sheets. Harvey did it again, and then set a steady, ruthless pace, fucking Mike hard, savoring the grunts and gasps and moans he pulled from him, feeling his heels thud against his back in rhythm with Harvey’s thrusts. He stroked a hand over Mike’s face and down his chest to feel the sweat dampening his skin. Finally, he braced one hand on the headboard, and bending Mike almost in half, he pistoned in and out, panting and cursing. Mike’s hard cock bobbed between them, flushed and leaking.

“Jerk yourself off,” Harvey ordered. “Let me watch you come all over yourself.”

Like the good boy he was, Mike fisted himself and started pumping enthusiastically. Harvey never slowed, but changed the angle of his thrusts and must have found the right spot because he was rewarded by a howl from Mike, who arched his back and came hard, his channel tightening exquisitely around Harvey’s cock. Three more violent thrusts and Harvey followed Mike into orgasm, rasping out his lover’s name. Mike’s legs fall to the bed beside him and he collapsed onto Mike, both of them damp with sweat and struggling to catch their breath.

_God,_ Harvey thought, clutching Mike in what felt like desperation, face pressed to his neck, _I need him with me. I’d do anything to keep him here._

“Mine,” he growled in Mike’s ear, and heard him sigh in response.

 

After Harvey disposed of the condom and cleaned them both up a little, he pulled Mike to him once more, wrapped his arms around him and held him close, breathing in his scent. Mike made a happy, humming sound and ducked his head under Harvey’s chin.

_Time to break the news,_ Harvey told himself. He was tempted to stall, to wait until the deadline was nearly up, but he knew that would only hurt Mike more, to know that Harvey had kept this from him…like he already had.

He sighed heavily and Mike lifted his head.

“Is something wrong?” he asked Harvey.

Harvey tightened his hold, kissed Mike’s forehead. “Yeah. Something’s wrong.” He could feel Mike grow tense, but he didn’t try to break free of Harvey’s hold. Not yet. “I fucked up today and…Mike, I’m so sorry.”

Mike relaxed back into Harvey, who felt Mike’s soft laugh vibrate across his throat. “You couldn’t have known they’d find me at your place. It wasn’t your fault. Although you might want to talk to whoever is in charge of building security. ”

Harvey’s stomach felt leaden, weighted with the burden of his guilt. Mike was so open, so effortlessly forgiving. Would he react the same way when he knew the truth? Harvey sighed again and removed one hand from Mike so he could stretch over and turn on the lamp on the nightstand.

Mike blinked in the sudden bright light and threw a hand up to shield his eyes. “Urgh. Geez, Harvey. Warn a guy?” The smile died on his lips as he caught sight of Harvey’s somber expression. Slowly, he pushed away, untangling their limbs and leaving a few inches between them. “What? Shit, Harvey, what is it? You’re starting to scare me here.”

Harvey needed the physical connection between them, so he turned onto his side and rested his hand on Mike’s stomach. “Listen to me carefully. Cameron Dennis, who I’m sure you know is the District Attorney, knows that you never went to Harvard, and that you’ve been practicing law without a license.” His heart ached at the look of shock that replaced Mike’s sleepy languor, but he plowed ahead with his confession. “This is entirely my fault. I allowed myself to get angry, forgot who else was in the room, and it just slipped out. I will do everything – Mike, look at me.”

Mike sat up suddenly and swung legs over the side of the bed and then froze there, staring at the wall. Harvey slid out of bed and walked around until he was facing Mike. The kid’s eyes were wide and frightened.

_Goddamn it._ Harvey was handling this all wrong. He dropped to his knees in front of Mike and grabbed his unresisting hands.

“ _Mike._ You’re not going to suffer for my mistake. I’m going to take the blame for everything. I’ll tell Jessica that I talked you into this, that it was all my idea. I’ll tell Cameron the same thing, and we’ll get you a plea deal. I’ll do whatever it takes, fight with everything I’ve got.” Mike was silent, seemed caught inside his own mind and wouldn’t meet Harvey’s gaze. “You’ll see, baby. It’s going to be all right. I _will_ fix this.”

Finally, Mike’s eyes regained their focus and he attempted a smile. “It’s all right. I knew it was too good to last. We had a pretty good run though, right?” He blinked rapidly a few times and Harvey imagined he was accessing all the information he had stored up regarding his particular crime. He gave a full-body shiver, smiling sadly at Harvey. “I’m not mad at you. How could I be? You found me, and you got Trevor another chance. Come on Harvey. Get back up here. Please?”

Harvey kept his gaze locked with Mike’s, assessing him, trying to look into his mind and see what he was thinking. All he saw were those wide, pleading eyes, so he nodded, stood up, and took his place next to Mike. They wrapped themselves around one another again, as close as they could get, and lay silently as the night wore on into early morning. Exhaustion finally got the better of Harvey and he slipped into sleep, and later wasn’t sure if he’d imagined Mike’s whispered words of love, or not.

 

******

 

The most difficult part of sneaking out was disentangling himself from Harvey without waking him up. Mike managed it, just barely. He gathered up the clothes he’d arrived in over twenty-four hours ago, and dressed hurriedly in the entryway before easing the front door open and then shut behind him. He rode the elevator down to street level and wandered out into the chilly early morning darkness to hail a cab. With little traffic, it was a quick ride to the building that housed the offices of Pearson Hardman. He flashed his security badge, and the was waved past the front desk, onto the elevator.

By the time he exited onto his floor, it was a little past five-thirty in the morning. He’d been here this early – or late – often enough that he was used to the darkened offices, the deserted feel of the place, and the quiet that seemed to magnify every sound he made. He held his ripped suit jacket under one arm and his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Despite the lump of dread that seemed to fill his entire chest cavity, he knew he was doing the right thing. Harvey wanted to sacrifice himself to save Mike, but Mike wasn’t about to allow that.

When he arrived at his cubicle, he took a moment to just sit in his chair and let memories of his time there wash over him. Like he’d told Harvey, it had been a good ride. A _great_ ride. Terrifying, exhilarating, and just…great. Tears pricked his eyes and threatened to spill over, and he scrubbed at them with the heels of his hands, annoyed at this momentary weakness.

He breathed in and out slowly, bringing his emotions under control, and then started the task of removing all of his personal items from the desk. There wasn’t much. Louis hadn’t allowed personal photographs to be displayed, although Mike had squirreled away his favorite picture of Grammy in the back of one desk drawer. He took it out and stared at it, wondering how he was going to break the news to her. He stowed the picture in his bag.

Next, he turned on his computer, composing an email in his head as he waited for it to boot up. Finally, he opened his email program and started to type.

_To: Jessica Pearson_

That was as far as he’d gotten when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up in surprise to see Louis making for his cubicle. _Ah fucking hell, not today._ Mike quickly minimized the message and waited.

“Mike,” said Louis, stopping in front of his desk, “you’re early. Good. I have some briefs I need proofed.”

Mike started to stand up, thought better of it and sat back down. “No, Louis.” At his own words, a weird mix of satisfaction and grief moved inside of him. Louis had already started down the hallway, but at Mike’s refusal, he came to an abrupt halt and pivoted back around to glare at Mike.

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you.”

“No Louis, you didn’t. I can’t help you with those briefs. I’m….” It was harder to say the words than he had thought it would be. “I’m leaving. I’m done here. I…I quit.” He felt a disbelieving shiver run through his spine at that declaration.

Louis was rendered mute for nearly a full minute, and if Mike hadn’t been fighting his own sudden crush of despair, he might have laughed at the pole-axed look on Louis’ face. Then Louis moved even closer to the low wall of Mike’s cubicle, hands reaching over the ledge to clutch the edge closest to Mike.

“What are you talking about? That’s ridiculous. Why would you do that?”

Mike had meant to break the news through his email to Jessica, but here was Louis, who would probably be delighted – if not outright titillated – to hear this juicy bit of information and pass it along, so he steeled himself, and said, “I’m quitting before Jessica can fire me. You see, Louis, the truth is I’m a fraud. I never went to Harvard.” Louis’ gasp at that was so overly dramatic that Mike gave a nervous little jump in his seat, and then re-focused himself and continued. “I have passed the bar, just not under my own name, and I’m not licensed to practice. The District Attorney knows all of this, and I expect that charges will be filed against me later today or tomorrow. And before you say a word, Harvey knew nothing about this. I fooled him, I fooled Jessica, and I fooled you.” He held his arms out to either side of himself. “So take a good long look, because I doubt if we’ll see one another again.”

He swiveled back to his computer and pulled up the draft of his email. After a moment he grimaced and deleted it. Without looking at Louis, he gathered up his things and said, “I’ll leave it to you to give Jessica the happy news.”

When he stood up and tried to leave his cubicle, he found himself blocked in by Louis, who held up an arm and pressed his hand against Mike’s chest.

“Wait, Mike. Just wait.”

“Get out of my way, Louis.” He picked Louis’ hand off of him and took a step back.

“No. No no no. Just give me a minute. Let me think.”

Mike laughed harshly and crossed his arms, wondering how much force it would take to push Louis aside, and whether it would be worth it to add assault to his list of crimes. It was tempting, because panic was beginning to seep through his numbness. He needed to get the fuck out of there. He imagined Harvey waking up, finding him gone, and rushing down here to ruin Mike’s selfless gesture and grand exit.

Rising panic and exasperation gave his voice a sharp edge. “Louis, what is there to think about? It’s pretty straightforward. I thought you’d be thrilled to see the last of me. And if you’d just move….”

“What? No, Mike, you’ve got it all wrong.” His mouth tightened and twisted, as if he was pondering some difficult legal strategy. Suddenly he darted forward, and to Mike’s alarm, grabbed his arm and tried to drag him out of his cubicle.

“Whoa! Louis, I said was leaving. No need to get physical.”

“Come with me, Mike. We need to go to my office.” When Mike set his feet, not cooperating, Louis gave a huff of impatience. “Don’t you understand? This is it Mike. The time has come. I promised you a favor, and I meant it. I never thought I would be tested like this, but dammit Mike, I owe you, and I always repay my debts.” He smiled almost giddily. “I, Louis Litt, am going to fix this for you. Not Harvey. _Me!_ ”

Mike shook his head as if to clear it, wondering if someone had slipped something in his coffee – except that he hadn’t had any coffee yet that morning. Maybe Louis was on something. Nothing was making any sense, but he finally just gave in to Louis’ tugs, and let himself be led down the hall to Louis’ office.

Louise shut the door, thought a minute and locked it. Mike backed warily away, prepared for the worst -- or weirdest -- that Louis had to offer. But the other man just retreated to his desk and sat down, toying with the hand-held recording device he had grown so fond of lately.

The silence stretched until Mike couldn’t take it any more. “Louis, what are you -- “

“Hush. I’m thinking.”

Mike dropped into one of the chairs across from Louis’ desk and leaned back, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

“Mike,” Louis said suddenly, “do you know what Harvey did before he came to work for Pearson Hardman?”

“Uh...contract killer? Caped crusader? International man of mystery?”

“No, Mike. All good guesses, though. He worked in the district attorney’s office. He was Cameron Dennis’ personal protege.”

“Bullshit.”

“No. I shit you not. See, Mike, why it’s good to network like this? Are you starting to question that Harvey Specter lone wolf shit?”

“N -- ”

“Well you should be. Now, riddle me this: who was Harvey’s assistant at the DA’s office?”

Mike widened his eyes and shook his head, lips pressed together.

“Oh, come on. That was an easy one. The answer is... _Donna!_ When Harvey quit so suddenly, I could never get him to tell me why, but I always suspected she knew something.” He swiveled his chair toward the window and lapsed into silence, a small, sly smile appearing and disappearing and appearing again on his face. He swung back to face Mike with a suddenness that had Mike jerking back in mild alarm. “Mike. You’re still here.”

“Uh, yeah....”

“Well, go! Get out. You need to go home and wait for me to contact you. I’m going to handle this situation.”

Mike hesitated. He did want to leave, to get home and plan his next move, but at Louis’ confident words, a tiny bit of hope had flared up inside of him. “You really think you can change the DA’s mind about filing charges?”

“Yes. And save your job.”

Mike gave a scoffing laugh. “Right. And hold my secret over my head forever.”

Louis regarded him with a serious expression. “A debt is a debt, and a favor is a favor. If I pull this off, the board is wiped clean.”

Mike shrugged and stood up. “Fine. Work your miracle, if you think you can. See you around, Louis.”

Louis didn’t respond, because he was busily typing a text message into his phone. Mike shook his head and left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay getting this chapter done. I probably should have fiddled with it a bit more, but...fatigue won this time. One more chapter to go (I'm 99% sure).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter....

Too restless to return to his apartment – and not wishing to be embarassingly easy to locate – Mike returned to Brooklyn and hung out in a coffee shop he’d always meant to try, before visiting a few bike shops, with an eye to replacing his recently dearly departed Broncks. He was on the verge of purchasing a grey model that was a newer version of the one he’d crashed, but couldn’t shake the image of himself as some kind of comical, half-assed fugitive, cycling across America like a deranged Pee-wee Herman trying to elude pursuit.

In the end, he decided that based on the probable outcomes in his immediate future, he’d do better to save his money in the event he needed to spend it on fake ID and an airline ticket to…somewhere. Where did people run off to these days? Brazil? Dubai? Kazakhstan? And why hadn’t he spent a little time researching this and making contingency plans?

He ignored Harvey’s phone calls and texts, which wasn’t easy. It had been such a great night...well, up until Harvey admitted what he’d done. Mike wanted to be angry at him, but he knew Harvey well enough to realize that he would only make a tactical error like that if he was under tremendous stress. Considering that worry about Mike had been the source of that stress, Mike could only feel affection for the man.

Yeah, right. Affection. Might want to consult your thesaurus on that one.

Still, he decided to wait to hear from Louis about whatever strategy he had been cooking up. Around two in the afternoon, when he was sitting in Gable’s nursing a beer with the rest of the early drinkers, Louis texted him a photo of the actor Peter Dinklage, which probably meant something to Louis, but had Mike scratching his head in bewilderment.

Maybe an hour later, when the bar started to fill up and the noise level began to get on Mike’s nerves, he reluctantly headed home, walking the long blocks in an effort to work off some of his nervous energy. No police officers or process servers awaited him in front of his apartment door, so evidently the other shoe had not yet dropped. He found a stale, half eaten sandwich next to the couch and threw it in the trash. He assumed it had been Trevor’s, and at that thought he was filled with a wave of sadness. No more drop-in visits from Trevor. No more Trevor, period.

He stood in front of the open refrigerator for a few minutes and then decided he wasn’t hungry after all, and slammed it shut. He walked out to the living room and stared around him at all of the unpacked boxes. Would they ever be unpacked now? What happened to people’s things when they were sent to prison? Who would see to them? He couldn’t picture Harvey doing anything as mundane as loading up his stuff into a rental truck and hauling them to storage, but maybe he would exert himself as far as calling a service to clear out the place.

Realizing he was sliding into a morose frame of mind which would accomplish nothing, Mike suddenly decided, that, fuck it all anyway, he’d go ahead and unpack, act like he was actually going to be around for a while. He had two boxes of kitchen items put away, and was dithering over where to put his vegetable peeler, when he heard someone knock on his door. He had a pretty good idea who it was, and hesitated only a few seconds before striding to the door and pulling it open.

Harvey stood there, unsmiling and…not angry, precisely, but definitely intense. “Can I come in?” he asked, one eyebrow arched, and an edge to his voice.

Mike opened the door silently, stepped out of the way, and Harvey stalked inside, giving the place a quick, dismissive glance. “Interesting style,” he said drily. “Early American Storage Unit?” He pivoted to face Mike. “You left me.” The words fell flat and dense between them.

“Harvey -- ”

“But,” continued Harvey, ”that is a discussion for later. Right now, I want to know what the hell you said to Donna.”

Mike blinked. “What? Nothing. I haven’t spoken to her at all since...I don’t even know. Yesterday I guess.”

“Yesterday.” Harvey walked over to the living room window, frowned out at the “view” for a second, and turned back to Mike. “I don’t think so.”

Mike studied the other man. The sharp tension of tightly held emotion was apparent in both the way he stood, and the thin line of his mouth. “Harvey...what’s happened?”

Harvey cut his dark gaze away and his mouth worked its way into a deeper frown. When he spoke, his voice was almost conversational, just like it got when preparing to go for the jugular of opposing counsel. “You want to know what’s happened? All right, let me give you a recap. I woke up to find you gone. I suppose I should have expected that, eventually. Not quite this soon, but you always were good at finding ways to surprise me. Always ahead of the curve.”

“Harvey....”

“And then I get to the office and for the first time in...I don’t know how long...never, maybe...Donna is not at her desk.”

Mike walked slowly closer and perched on the arm of the sofa, trying to understand what Harvey was telling him.

“So,” Harvey was saying, “kind of a weird day so far. Donna shows up around noon, but just before she gets there, I get a call from Cameron Dennis. Any guesses what he has to say?”

“I’m a little lost here, so....”

“Well, he’s pretty pissed off. Calls Donna a rabid pit bull. Which, let’s face it, not far off. Although I’d probably have gone with one of those little cute little things, you know, the ones that look harmless but really aren't, with the eyes and the ears and the sharp little teeth, but don’t tell her that.”

“Uh. Okay?”

“But I digress.” Harvey stalked across the several feet that separated them, stopping when his face was inches from Mike’s. “Turns out, you’re in the clear. No charges will be filed.”

A microsecond of elation was followed by confusion. “That’s...weird.”

“Yeah.”

Harvey moved past Mike and dropped heavily onto the sofa. “Yeah,” he repeated.

Mike twisted so he could see Harvey, who was staring a hole in the opposite wall. He took a breath and composed his thoughts. “Okay, first of all, you’re jumping to a lot of conclusions here.” Mike could see the tension in Harvey’s jaw ratchet up another notch, and started to worry that he would sprain something in his face. “Just -- Here’s how I spent my day. I went into the office to pack up my shit and submit my resignation to Jessica.”

Harvey expelled a sigh, but at least didn’t look any angrier. Taking that as a positive sign, Mike slid down the sofa’s arm and onto the seat, leaving more than a foot between himself and Harvey.

“I was interrupted by Louis, who was his usual briefcase full of crazy. And, okay, this is going to piss you off, but I told him I was leaving and why.” No response from Harvey. “He...I don’t think I ever mentioned that he’s convinced himself he owes me a favor because of...you know, all that...whatever.” He waved a hand vaguely, wondering when, if ever, he would be able to speak of the events from two months ago.

He gathered his thoughts, trying to focus, and noticed that Harvey had turned halfway toward him and was actually looking at him.

“Anyway, Louis was babbling all this non sequitur shit about you and the district attorney, and Donna, just before he kicked me out of there and told me to wait until I heard from him. So I made myself scarce.”

Another sigh from Harvey. “And did you?”

Mike frowned. “Did I what?”

A sigh and an eye roll this time. “Did you hear from him? From Louis?”

“Oh. Well, that’s when it got really strange.” He grabbed his cell phone from the coffee table, found the text from Louis and showed it to Harvey. “See? This is what he sent me. Just this photo. I recognized him, and I even hit up IMDb, but I still don’t get it.”

Harvey started blankly at the picture of the actor for a few seconds, and Mike could see the moment when he got it, whatever “it” was. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, and the next instant he dissolved in laughter, which was such a rare occurrence that Mike could only stare at the crinkles that appeared at the corners of Harvey’s eyes and wish he could see this every day. Harvey losing control, de-aging by almost ten years in the process, was so heart-stoppingly beautiful that Mike lost the thread of their discussion until, too soon, giggling Harvey was buttoned back up and serious Harvey was back.

“Mike, I’m disappointed in you,” he said, lingering humor diluting the intensity of his gaze. “And I’m going to have to insist on a Game of Thrones marathon as penance for missing that reference.”

“Care to interpret?”

Harvey sighed and seemed to relax for the first time since he’d come through Mike’s door. He loosened his tie and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Got anything to drink?”

A little exasperated -- it was his life hanging in the balance, after all -- Mike grabbed the last two beers from the refrigerator, handed one to Harvey and sat back down next to him. “So, Louis....” he prompted.

“Louis has convinced himself that he is a Lannister.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

Harvey grew serious once more. “It means he always repays his debts. And I imagine he believed he had a rather huge one owing to you.”

Mike nodded. “He did mention something to that effect. So what did he do? And how does it involve Donna?”

Harvey gave a little grimace. “I had something over Cameron from when I worked for him. He hid evidence in a case he’d assigned to me. I should have reported him, but at the time I felt I owed him something, so I let it go and submitted my resignation instead.”

“Okay. And Donna knew about this?”

Harvey gave him a skeptical look. “You have to ask?”

“Right.” Mike thought over what Harvey had just told him. “But if you didn’t turn him in all those years ago, how could you hope to use it against him now?”

Harvey grinned and Mike’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. It took an effort to concentrate on what he was saying. “After Louis talked Donna into confronting Cameron -- and by the way, he only had to mention that it was for you to get her to agree -- he loaned her something to take with her to the DA’s office.”

Mike looked at him expectantly. Harvey reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out Louis’ handheld recorder. Mike gave a short bark of laughter. “She got his confession on tape.”

“Well, it’s a digital recording device, but yes, essentially.”

“Oh my god,” Mike murmured. His gaze went unfocused while he considered all of the implications of what Louis and Donna had done for him. His immediate future was secure, it seemed. But two more people knew his secret, and neither could be counted as friends. Maybe there was hope for Louis -- maybe if Mike submitted to more submersions in exotic mud -- but Cameron Dennis...he had to be pretty pissed off by this. Dennis had mentored Harvey, had molded part of what Harvey had become, and like Harvey, he probably hated to lose. Mike had no doubt that eventually he would find some effective counterpunch at a time when Mike, or more likely Harvey, could least afford it.

As often happened, Harvey’s thoughts seemed to have followed the same direction as his. “This isn’t over,” he cautioned.

Mike nodded slowly and refocused on Harvey. “Maybe it’s time for me to tap out after all. He’ll be looking to trap me, and when he does, it will implicate you.”

Harvey’s expression grew bleak. “And there it is.”

“No, Harvey, I didn’t say -- ”

“You don’t have to say anything, Mike. I know how this goes. I give you my trust and my love, and you throw it back in my face.” He stood up, and Mike was afraid for a moment that he was about to storm out, but he started pacing the length of Mike’s living room. “I’ve protected you in ways you don’t even know about. I’ll always protect you in any way I can.” He stopped suddenly and glared down at Mike. “But goddamn it, Mike, I can’t do that if you’re not there!”

Mike took a careful breath and then stood slowly, advancing on Harvey until he was close enough to put his hands on his chest. Harvey’s expression didn't soften, but at least he wasn’t retreating. “Say that again, that first part.” At Harvey’s furrowed brow, Mike clarified, “The part about you giving me your trust and, uh, what was that other thing?”

“Mike....”

“Just say it,” he whispered, touching the side of Harvey’s face. Harvey remained stubbornly silent. “I’m not going to leave you, you know. I don’t know with absolute certainty what my future as a lawyer will be. If you think I should stick it out at the firm, I will. But even if I have to resign tomorrow and become a...a burger flipper or some fucking thing like that, it won’t change the way I feel about you. I’m not leaving. I won’t leave you. I mean, that is, if you still want me when I come home smelling like grease and stale fries.”

It occurred to Mike then that Harvey likely wouldn’t want a burger flipper for a boyfriend, and he frowned and started to pull away. Harvey grabbed his shoulders in a crushing grip, holding him in place.

“I love you,” Harvey said. He leaned in and kissed Mike, sweet and soft. “I want you with me at work, at home, in my bed. I believe we can work out the first one, but if I can only have the last two of those, it will be enough.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mike said, a little breathless. He pulled Harvey back in for another kiss, which deepened and rapidly grew heated and frenzied. As he started backing up, dragging Harvey towards the bedroom, Mike managed to put enough space between their mouths long enough to say, “I love you too, by the way.”

“Well, no shit.”

  

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. Phew. So sorry that last chapter took forever to get done. Thanks for reading, and of course thanks for the comments and kudos.
> 
> If anybody was actually reading my other WIP, The Art of Memory, I will now resume working on that little hot mess.


End file.
